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NOBLEMAN 


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NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN 


BY 

JANE  G.   AUSTIN 

AUTHOR   OK   "  THE   DESMOND    HUNDRED,"   ETC. 
TWENTY-FiaST  EDITION 


BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 
Ctx  fiitoewDe  Press,  CambnDfle 
1889 


Copyright,  1888, 
BY  TlCKNOR  AND  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved. 


Mother!   For  love  ofthee  if  was  begun  ; 
In  thy  most  honored  name  to-day  V/'j  done. 
And  though  all  earthly  cares  must  cease 
In  that  fair  land  of  everlasting  peace, 
Love  aye  is  one,  and  they  who  love  are  one  ; 
Time  cannot  end  what  God  in  Time  begun  ; 
And  thou  wilt  joy  e'en  in  thine  endless  rest. 
To  know  thy  child  obeys  thy  last  behest. 


2061748 


CONTENTS. 


I.  Louis  THE  GRAND  AND  Louis  THK  LITTLE,  i 

II.  PROVENCE  ROSES n 

III.  A  BLIGHT  UPON  THE  ROSES        ...  20 

IV.  BETWEEN  Two  DAYS       ....  25 
V.  CAIN  AND  ABEL   ....               •  33 

VI.  VALERIE'S  CHOICE 42 

VIL  MOLLY 54 

VIII.  THE  SPINNING-WHEEL     ....  64 

IX.  MOLLY  ACCEPTS  THE  CONSEQUENCES  .       .  74 

X.  THE  CONSEQUENCES 81 

XI.  THE  FRENCH  INVASION       ....  85 

XII.  THE  ROSY  DAWN 95 

XIII.  THE  DAGGER  OF   REGINALD  DE   MONTAR 

NAUD 102 

XIV.  MRS.  HETHERFORD  TAKES  PITY  ON  MARY,  1 10 
XV.  THE  PRIEST'S  CHAMBER  .       .       .       .  116 

XVI.  THE  SEARCH-WARRANT       ....  127 

XVII.  AND  VALERIE? 134 

XVIII.  DR.  SCHWARZ 142 

XIX.    LOYALISM   AND  LOYOLAISM         ...  15! 

XX.  THE  DOCTOR  PROBES  A  LITTLE  ...  157 

XXI.  THE  JOY  OF  MEETING     .       .  *     .       .  160 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

XXII.  AND  THE  PAIN  OF  PARTING       .       .       .171 

XXIII.  THE  BETROTHAL 179 

XXIV.  GRANDMOTHER  AMES'S  CURTAINS      .       .  190 
XXV.  THE  WHOLE  TRUTH,  AND  NOTHING  BUT 

THE  TRUTH 201 

XXVI.  THE  MAIL-BAG  OF  THE  " CIRCE"  .       .  209 
XXVII.  THE  BUNCH  OF  GRAPES       .       .       .       .221 

XXVIII.  DAME  TILLEY'S  LEG 233 

XXIX.  THE  DARK  HOUR  BEFORE  THE  DAWN      »  237 

XXX.  A  BRIDAL  PROCESSION     ....  247 

XXXI.  THE  VALUE  OF  A  DOCTOR  ....  254 

XXXII.  A  TREATY  OFFENSIVE  AND  DEFENSIVE  .  263 

XXXIII.  THE  ROSE-GARDEN  OF  PROVENCE       .       .  268 

XXXIV.  THE  RESTORATIONS  OF  THE  CHAPEL     .  275 
XXXV.  THE  DOCTOR'S  DVESSING-ROOM  ...  283 

XXXVI.  DEAD  THINGS  THAT  WILL  NOT  SLEEP   .  293 

XXXVII.  A  CRUCIAL  TEST 302 

XXXVIII.  THE  "BELLE  ISLE" 316 

XXXIX.  MARQUISES  ARE  UNLUCKY  TO  ME     .       .  324 

XL.  MOLLY  HOLDS  THE  FORT        ...  328 

XLI.  LETTER  FROM  THE  ABBE  DESPARD    .       .  340 

XLII.  ON  BURYING-HILL 343 

XLIII.  A  PROVENCE  Ross       ...               .  349 

XLIV.  WHEN  THE  FOG  LIFTED  ....  354 

XLV.  GOOD-BY.                                                      .  t68 


A   NAMELESS   NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

LOUIS  THE  GRAND,  AND  LOUIS  THE  LITTLE. 

THE  Montespan  is  in  great  beauty  to-night,"  said 
the  Marquis  de  Vannes  to  the  Comte  de  Cha- 
blais,  as  the  two  stood  waiting  with  all  the  rest  of  the 
world  for  the  entrance  of  the  royal  party.  It  was  the 
grand  gallery  of  Versailles  where  they  stood ;  and 
from  the  lofty  ceiling  the  grim  warriors  depicted  there 
by  LeBrun  looked  down  in  surly  admiration  upon  the 
beauties  of  the  world,  so  notably  assembled  at  the 
French  court  during  the  first  half  of  the  reign  of 
Louis  XIV. ;  for  Anne  of  Austria,  always  a  Spaniard, 
loved  to  see  herself  surrounded  by  the  dark  eyes  and 
to  hear  the  lisping  accents  of  her  native  land ;  nor  did 
she  fail  to  encourage  her  poor,  timid  daughter-in-law 
in  the  same  tastes,  if,  indeed,  Maria  Theresa  can  be 
said  to  have  had  any  thing  so  decisive  as  a  taste,  ex- 
cept in  the  direction  of  chocolate.  Differing  subtly 
from  the  Spaniards,  and  yet  resembling  them  in  race- 
marks,  came  a  troop  of  Italy's  fairest  and  best-bom, 


2  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

following  the  Mancinis  and  Martinozzis,  all  hoping  for- 
tune and  preferment  from  Mazarin.  Poor,  charming, 
doomed  Henrietta  of  England  was  the  magnet  of  a 
bevy  of  fair  aristocrats,  whose  blonde  loveliness  con- 
trasted, to  their  mutual  advantage,  with  the  brown 
beauties  of  Spain,  Italy,  and  France,  and  surpassed  in 
refinement  that  of  the  Germans  who  had  already 
appeared  at  the  court  of  France,  heralding,  perhaps, 
the  advent  of  their  queer  countrywoman,  the  second 
Duchess  of  Orleans.  But  we  return  to  the  two  gal- 
lants, themselves  no  mean  personages  at  court,  who 
stood  discussing  the  scene  with  the  gay  cynicism  of 
their  age. 

"In  beauty,  yes,"  replied  De  Chablais,  glancing 
across  the  gallery  at  the  Marquise  de  Montespan,  who 
stood  surrounded  by  flatterers,  rivals,  imitators,  ene- 
mies, every  thing  but  friends :  "  she  looks  as  content 
as  the  cat  who  has  just  lapped  up  the  cream,  and  is 
still  singing  jubilate  over  the  fall  of  poor  dear  La 
Valliere." 

"Don't  be  uncharitable,  man  cher"  replied  De 
Vannes  maliciously.  "Madame  de  Montespan  was 
the  friend  of  the  Duchess  de  la  Valliere,  and  proved 
it  by  dragging  an  earthly  crown  from  between  her 
hands  and  giving  her  an  heavenly  one  instead.  No 
doubt  Sister  Louise  de  la  Mis£ricorde  feels  deeply 
grateful." 

"  Oh,  of  course  !  especially  as  this  devoted  friend 
prevents  any  danger  of  a  lapse  from  grace  by  herself 
monopolizing  the  peril  formerly  shared  by  both." 

"  While  the  widow  Scarron  meekly  offers  herself  as  a 


THE  GRAND  AND   THE  LITTLE  LOUIS.      3 

monument  of  pious  peace  set  in  the  very  whirlpool  of 
these  contending  passions." 

Monsieur  de  Chablais  turned,  and  looked  keenly  at 
his  friend,  then  breathlessly  asked,  — 

"What  do  you  say,  De  Vannes?  Surely  this  prude 
of  a  gouvcrnantc  will  not  presume  to  supersede  her 
mistress,  -as  her  mistress  did  her  friend  and  equal !  " 

"  If  by  mistress  you  mean  Madame  de  Montespan, 
my  friend,  I  beg  to  contradict  you.  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  as  we  are  now  to  style  the  widow  Scarron, 
is  the  governess,  not  of  Madame  de  Montespan's  chil- 
dren, but  of  the  king's." 

"  A  distinction,  I  perceive ;  but  where  is  the  differ- 
ence ?  " 

"  The  difference  of  serving  a  master  or  —  a  mistress." 

"  I  perceive ;  but  allow  me  to  observe  it  is  a  danger- 
ous bon-mot,  since  that  master  is  also  our  master,  and 
possesses  sharp  ears,  keen  eyes,  and  remarkably  long 
arms." 

"All  which  will  presently  exercise  themselves,  unless 
he  is  the  more  careful,  upon  that  handsome  youth 
devoting  himself  so  frankly  to  the  fair  marquise." 

"  I  see.  He  seems  about  to  devour  her  bodily,  and 
she  conquers  in  his  behalf  that  timid  and  shrinking 
reserve  we  all  recognize  as  her  distinctive  charm. 
Who  is  he?" 

"Son  of  that  poor  old  Count  de  Montamaud,  I 
believe." 

"What,  the  courtier  of  King  Clovis?  Is  he  still 
extant?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  and  is  forever  in  the  king's  path,  asking 


4  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

him  to  make  this  boy  generalissimo  of  the  French 
army." 

"Is  that  all?  The  young  fellow  is  making  out  a 
better  road  to  advancement  for  himself,  if  he  plays  his 
cards  well." 

"  If  the  king  surprises  him  making  eyes  at  madame, 
he  is  likely  to  be  advanced  with  a  vengeance, — 
advanced  to  the  front  ranks  of  the  next  forlorn-hope, 
against  some  Dutch  city  with  an  unpronounceable 
name." 

"Gentlemen,  gentlemen!  the  king!"  announced 
an  usher  passing  in  front  of  the  speakers,  who  immedi- 
ately fell  back  into  the  formal  line  adopted  by  the 
courtiers  about  to  be  passed  in  review  by  the  mon- 
arch, at  this  moment  appearing  in  the  folding-doors 
thrown  open  at  his  approach.  A  slight  murmur  of 
adulation  and  delight  replaced  the  busy  hum  of  con- 
versation in  the  grande  galerie,  a  sort  of  courtly  para- 
phrase of  the  song  issuing  from  the  lips  of  Memnon 
as  the  first  rays  of  morning  sunlight  touched  them ; 
and  then  Louis,  followed  by  several  members  of  the 
royal  family,  passed  slowly  down  the  hall,  pausing  at 
almost  every  step  to  address  now  one  and  then  anoth- 
er of  the  rustling  and  glittering  ranks  of  courtiers,  who 
bent  before  his  look  as  a  parterre  of  tulips  ben:ls 
before  the  west  wind. 

"  Did  ycu  mark  the  glance  his  Majesty  shot  at  the 
Montespan  and  her  new  breloque?"  murmured  De 
Vannes  to  De  Chablais  without  turning  his  head.  "  I 
would  not  be  in  the  shoes  of  that  captain  of  cavalry 
for  something,  unless  the  marquise  puts  him  in  her 
pocket  before  his  Majesty  reaches  that  spot." 


THE   GRAND  AND    THE  LITTLE  LOUIS.      § 

"My  Barbary  horse  against  your  Damascus  sword 
that  she  don't,  and  that  Montarnaud  is  either  ban- 
ished, imprisoned,  or  punished  in  some  manner." 

"  Done,  although  I  shall  lose  my  sword." 

"You  will  if  he  does."  And  as  the  long's  sonorous 
and  measured  accents  drew  nearer,  the  courtiers  be- 
came mute  and  expectant. 

It  was  in  fact  true,  that  the  Grande  Monarque,  who, 
like  all  potent  rulers,  had  microscopic  as  well  as  tele- 
scopic powers  of  vision,  had,  upon  his  first  entrance 
into  the  hall,  singled  his  favorite  from  among  the  glit- 
tering throng,  and  at  once  perceived  that  she  was 
carrying  on  one  of  those  audacious  and  sudden  flirta- 
tions which  some  women  toss  off  as  others  do  a  glass 
of  champagne,  or  a  full  inhalation  of  volatile  salts,  — 
a  brief  exhilaration  and  stimulus,  only  fitting  them  for 
more  serious  and  systematic  efforts  in  some  other 
direction. 

Already  the  stimulus  told ;  for  never  had  Madame  de 
Montespan  looked  more  magnificently  handsome  than 
to-night,  with  her  great  dark  eyes  overflowing  with  bril- 
liancy, her  cheeks  and  lips  burning  with  color,  her 
wonderful  hands  and  arms  showing  like  those  of  a 
statue  against  the  garnet-colored  velvet  of  her  robe, 
her  shoulders  and  bust  rising  invincible  from  a  sea-foam 
border  of  priceless  lace.  Arms  and  bosom  and  head 
glittered  with  the  jewels  this  woman  loved  so  much 
better  than  she  did  soul  or  honor,  and  which  her  royal 
tover  lavished  upon  her-  with  such  princely  munifi- 
cence that  she  boasted  of  owning  a  richer  collection 
than  any  queen  could  claim  as  private  property.  To 


6  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

be  sure,  they  were  not  all  paid  for  in  that  reign ;  but 
the  bill  was  brought  in  to  Louis  XVI.  about  a  cen- 
tury later,  and  he,  poor  scapegoat,  settled  for  all. 

Yes,  the  Montespan  was  in  great  beauty  to-night ; 
and  so  evidently  thought  the  handsome  young  man  in 
the  uniform  of  a  captain  of  cavalry,  who  stood  beside 
her,  devouring  her  with  his  bold  black  eyes,  and  bend- 
ing more  confidentially  than  deferentially  to  catch  the 
words  murmured  for  his  ear  alone.  At  the  entrance 
of  the  king  he  drew  himself  up,  and  made  a  move- 
ment of  adieu :  but  the  marquise,  not  appearing  to 
notice  the  gesture,  continued  the  conversation  in  a  yet 
more  familiar  tone ;  and  the  Vicomte  de  Montarnaud, 
bred  in  the  school  of  reckless  gallantry,  whether  of 
love  or  war,  so  popular  in  that  day,  followed  her  lead 
without  further  hesitation  or  comment,  so  that  in  point 
of  fact  a  more  patient  and  humble  man  than  Louis 
Dieu-donn£  might  have  felt  a  little  annoyed  at  the 
slight  to  himself  involved  in  this  absorbing  interest  in 
another,  displayed  by  his  haughty  mistress.  A  slight 
but  ominous  frown  gathered  upon  the  Olympian  brow ; 
and  the  courteous  phrases  scattered  hither  and  thither 
among  the  expectant  crowd  by  the  "  lips  of  fate,"  as 
some  people  called  the  royal  mouth,  grew  scanter  and 
more  mechanical,  so  that  several  courtiers,  not  sure  of 
favor,  skilfully  contrived  to  melt  away  behind  their 
companions,  preferring  not  to  risk  the  compliments 
their  royal  master  was  quite  capable  of  bestowing 
when  in  an  ill  humor. 

Suddenly  the  king's  eyes  lightened  wrathfully,  and 
yet  unaccountably;  for  the  figure  upon  which  they 


THE   GRAND  AND    THE  LITTLE  LOUIS.      / 

rested  was  as  harmless  an  one  as  could  be  imagined, 
and  surely  a  very  familiar  one,  for  the  Comte  de  Mont- 
arnaud  had  been  longer  at  court  by  many  years  than 
Louis  himself.  An  old  man,  wigged,  painted,  padded, 
decrepit,  and  courtly,  —  a  man  whose  face  nature 
had  made  handsome  and  noble,  and  seventy  years  of 
court  life  had  rendered  insignificant,  crafty,  and  crin- 
ging. As  he  perceived  that  the  king  would  address 
him,  the  wizened  face  lighted  with  servile  joy,  and  the 
poor  old  back  bent  in  a  bow  so  profound  that  one 
knew  not  whether  to  fear  the  vertebrae  should  become 
dislocated  or  the  peruke  tumble  off;  misfortunes  about 
equal,  since  one  meant  death,  and  the  other  the  royal 
displeasure.  Before  either  danger  was  fully  overpast 
the  king  spoke  coldly  and  haughtily :  — 

"Monsieur  de  Montarnaud,  you  asked  permission 
some  time  since  to  marry  your  eldest  son  to  Mademoi- 
selle de  Rochenbois,  your  ward." 

"  I  had  thought  of  it,  your  Majesty ;  but,  when  your 
Majesty  deigned  to  remark  that  you  did  not  like  your 
officers  to  marry  too  young,  I  relinquished  "  — 

"  I  withdraw  my  opposition,  and  permit  the  mar- 
riage. Nay,  more  :  as  you  have  been  a  faithful  servant 
of  my  august  father  as  well  as  of  myself,  the  marriage 
may  take  place  in  the  royal  chapel ;  and  we  shall  see 
if  some  position  about  the  court  can  be  found  for  the 
bride,  who  will  remain  here  while  the  vicomte  returns 
to  his  duty.  Where  is  she  now  ?" 

"  At  the  Chateau  de  Montarnaud,  your  Majesty." 

"  In  Provence,  I  believe." 

"  Yes,  your  Majesty,  near  Marseilles." 


8  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Ah,  near  Marseilles  !  And  what  family  have  you 
there,  Monsieur  le  Comte?  You  are  a  widower,  I 
believe.' 

"  Since  fifteen  years,  your  Majesty.  My  family  con- 
sists, besides  my  ward,  of  only  two  sons." 

"Two?  where  is  the  other?    I  never  heard  of  him." 

"  Oh !  your  Majesty,  he  is  but  a  boy  yet,  hardly 
twenty  years  old,  and  still  with  his  tutor.  He  inherits 
a  little  property  from  his  mother,  and  with  it  the  title 
of  le  Baron  de  "  — 

"But  where  is  he,  I  ask?  At  Montarnaud,  near 
Marseilles,  with  Mademoiselle  de  Rochenbois  ?  " 

"Yes,  your  Majesty,"  replied  the  poor  old  courtier, 
feeling  that  the  prolonged  conversation,  which  at  first 
had  overwhelmed  him  with  delight,  was  assuming  a 
tone  of  menace  and  aggression  any  thing  but  indica- 
tive of  royal  favor  to  the  house  of  Montarnaud.  Nor 
was  the  king's  parting  speech  calculated  to  assuage 
the  cruel  forebodings  of  the  old  man's  heart ;  for,  with 
a  very  pronounced  sneer  upon  his  Austrian  lips,  Louis 
passed  on,  saying,  — 

"  Really,  Monsieur  de  Montarnaud,  you  are  a  man 
of  resource.  Since  it  was  not  permitted  to  marry 
)  our  elder  son  to  this  wealthy  ward,  you  shut  her  up 
in  a  country-house  with  the  younger  one,  trusting  to 
the  chapter  of  accidents  for  a  marriage,  public  or  pri- 
vate, before  there  should  be  time  to  prevent  it.  I 
shall,  however,  expect  to  receive  Madame  la  Vicom- 
tesse  de  Montarnaud,  nee  de  Rochenbois,  within  the 
month." 

"Your  Majesty  shall  be  obeyed,"  stammered  the 


THE   GRAND  AND    THE  LITTLE  LOUIS.     Q 

count,  trembling  upon  his  infirm  legs  as  the  chill 
breath  of  the  royal  displeasure  swept  over  his  head, 
like  the  first  frost  of  autumn  over  the  parterre  of 
tulips,  to  which  but  now  we  likened  the  ranks  of 
courtiers. 

Passing  on,  the  king  reached  the  station  of  the 
marquise  and  her  coterie;  and  while  graciously  ac- 
knowledging her  careless  salute,  and  the  profound  rev- 
erences of  her  companions,  he  gayly  said  to  the 
former,  — 

"Madame,  by  the  pleased  expression  upon  this 
young  gentleman's  face,  I  suspect  that  you  are  con- 
gratulating him  upon  his  approaching  marriage  and 
the  already  renowned  beauty  of  his  bride." 

A  slight  and  angry  color  rose  to  the  haughty 
beauty's  brow ;  and  turning  her  eyes  upon  the  startled, 
almost  alarmed,  face  of  the  young  man,  she  coldly 
said, — 

"Monsieur  had  not  informed  me  of  his  happiness." 

"  His  Majesty  is  pleased  to  jest.  I  am  not  so  un- 
fortunate as  to  be  in  bondage  as  yet,"  stammered  the 
captain  of  cavalry,  divided  between  the  impossibility 
of  contradicting  the  king  or  of  speaking  to  any  one 
else  in  his  presence,  and  the  desire  to  retain  his  place 
in  the  favor  of  the  imperious  beauty,  to  whom  he  had 
just  vowed  to  carry  her  colors  triumphantly  through 
the  next  battle  in  which  he  should  be  called  to  en- 
gage, and  of  whom  he  had  begged  and  obtained  per- 
mission to  present  himself  at  her  apartments  the  next 
day,  and  there  receive  from  her  own  hands  the  scarf 
to  be  thus  borne.  And  although  neither  the  social  nor 


IO  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

the  moral  code  of  those  days,  nor  above  all  the  co.le 
Montespan,  objected  to  the  devotion  of  anybody's 
husband  to  anybody  else's  wife,  it  was  nevertheless,  aa 
both  the  marquise  and  her  admirer  felt,  a  little  out  of 
taste  that  a  man  should  in  the  same  breath  ask  per- 
mission of  the  king  to  marry  a  charming  young  girl, 
and  of  the  king's  mistress  to  carry  her  colors  through 
the  wars. 

Louis  glanced  from  the  one  face  to  the  other,  and 
took  a  pinch  of  snuff  with  uncommon  zest 

"The  good  news  is  nevertheless  true,  monsieur," 
said  he,  in  his  most  debonnaire  and  gracious  tone.  "  I 
love  to  reward  the  good  soldiers  who  win  so  many 
laurels  for  me ;  and,  as  monsieur  your  father  tells  me 
your  heart  is  set  upon  this  marriage,  I  have  consented, 
not  only  that  it  shall  take  place  in  the  royal  chapel, 
but  that  Madame  de  Montarnaud  shall  be  entertained 
at  court  during  your  absence  in  the  approaching  cam- 
paign in  Holland.  The  nuptials  may  be,  I  fear,  a  little 
hurried ;  but  you  shall  have  permission  to  fly  to  Mont- 
arnaud  at  the  earliest  possible  hour  to-morrow." 

The  king  passed  on ;  Madame  de  Montespan  stifled 
a  yawn,  and  turned  her  back  upon  the  young  man, 
who  with  a  brow  as  black  as  night  made  his  way  to 
tne  lower  end  of  the  hall,  where  his  father  awaited  him 
with  a  pale  and  frightened  face. 


PROVENCE  ROSES.  II 


CHAPTER   II. 

PROVENCE   ROSES. 

rwas  a  garden  deep  in  the  heart  of  Provence, 
Provence  the  fair,  Provence  the  intoxicating, 
Provence  of  the  Provengals,  neighbor  of  Languedoc 
and  Dauphiny ;  that  region  redolent  of  the  traditions 
of  poet  and  troubadour,  of  the  court  of  Love  and 
Beauty,  of  Blondel  and  his  lion-master,  of  the  dear, 
prolix,  impossible,  inconsequent  romances  that  drove 
Don  Quixote  mad,  but  whose  flavor,  like  a  drop  of 
attar,  has  been  found  sufficient  to  perfume  half  the 
more  modern  works  of  fiction. 

It  was  a  garden  innocent  of  the  chilling  and  formal 
science  just  coming  into  vogue  in  France  under  the 
auspices  of  Le  Notre,  the  impress  of  whose  style  is 
still  to  be  seen,  not  only  in  the  gardens  of  Versailles, 
but  all  over  France,  and  even  England ;  a  garden  left 
very  much  to  Nature,  who,  sweet  prodigal,  in  this  her 
beloved  summer  land,  had  pleased  herself  by  heaping 
together  in  this  little  hidden  nook  a  wealth  of  color 
and  perfume,  of  riotous  bloom,  of  glowing  sunlight 
and  alluring  shadow,  of  food  for  every  sensuous  ca- 
pacity of  eye  and  ear,  and  that  subtlest  of  senses,  the 
sense  of  smell,  enough  in  this  one  garden  to  gild  all 
Switzerland  with  a  charm  her  grandeur  has  never  at- 
tained. 


12  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

The  place  was  old  and  irregular,  and  succeeding 
generations  of  Montarnauds  had  left  the  impress  of 
their  taste  in  now  a  dense  mass  of  evergreen  forming  a 
background  to  a  great  clump  of  gorgeous  bloom ;  now 
a  fountain,  again  an  arbor,  a  winding  labyrinth  leading 
to  a  hidden  nook  of  shaded  and  perfumed  rest ;  again 
a  broad,  glowing  expanse  of  massed  flowers,  geranium, 
salvia,  calceolaria,  hydrangea,  dahlias,  every  thing  that 
is  positive  and  imperious  of  color  and  form,  all  welter- 
ing in  the  thick  yellow  sunshine  that  seemed  to  sink 
into  every  open  pore  like  wine  into  the  lips  of  a  thirsty 
man ;  around  these  lay  borders  of  pansy  and  mignon- 
ette, and  all  that  is  fragrant  and  unobtrusive,  and  ready 
to  lend  perfume  to  the  beauty  of  their  soulless  neigh- 
bors ;  and  anon  broad  ribbons  of  tulip-beds,  and  trel- 
lises where  passion-flower  and  jasmine  and  scarlet 
cypress  climbed  tumultuously  over  each  other  to  the 
very  topmost  hold,  and  then  waved  their  long  slender 
arms  hither  and  yon  in  the  effort  to  grasp  at  something 
more.  Lilies  were  there,  queen  lilies  such  as  the  Angel 
of  the  Annunciation  bears,  their  milk-white  chalices 
powdered  with  the  gold-dust  of  promise ;  lilies  of  the 
valley  at  their  feet ;  lilies  from  Japan,  that  land  still 
locked  in  mystery,  yet  flinging  from  her  half-opened 
door  this  or  that  object  of  art  and  wonder  to  the 
French  who  stood  knocking,  louis  d'or  in  hand ;  lilies 
of  Palestine,  Solomon  lilies,  flaunting  beneath  the 
Provencal  sun  robes  whose  marvel  was  selected  as  the 
type  of  gorgeous  apparel  by  Him  who  was  born  among 
their  glory.  And  the  roses !  at  the  roses  we  pause : 
for  he  who  has  not  seen  Provence  roses  in  Provence 


PROVENCE  ROSES.  13 

knows  not  the  meaning  of  those  five  letters,  knows 
not  why  the  rose  is  queen  of  flowers,  knows  not  why 
the  rose  is  the  type  of  love,  knows  not  why  the  dear 
old  mediaeval  legend  changed  Bohemian  Elizabeth's 
hidden  charity  to  roses  rather  than  to  another  flower. 
The  color,  oh  the  impossible  color !  for  the  heart  of 
the  summer  pulsated  in  its  glow,  the  soul  of  the  sun 
burned  in  its  intensity,  the  deep  rich  light  permeated 
every  vein  of  the  petals  sumptuous  in  their  substance, 
and  marvellous  in  their  size.  No,  no  !  we  cannot 
describe  the  roses  of  Provence :  but  they  are  there, 
and  you  may  see  them ;  pass  by  Paris,  and  go,  if  you 
are  wise. 

Besides  the  evergreens,  the  olive,  the  pepper-trees, 
the  ilex,  the  flowers,  and  the  labyrinth,  there  were  the 
birds  who  made  bridal  journeys  from  all  the  rest  of 
France  to  this  garden ;  the  butterflies  who  floated  over 
the  flower-beds  like  blossoms  detached  and  drawn 
upward  by  the  sun-god ;  and  there  was  Valerie  !  Va- 
lerie, who  all  day  long  flitted  through  the  garden, 
embodying  flower,  and  bird,  and  butterfly,  and  Prov- 
encal summer,  all  in  her  own  mignonne  figure ;  Valerie 
who  loved  them  all,  and  was  beloved  by  all,  and  had 
feasted  all  her  life  upon  their  beauty,  and  whose 
beauty  was  a  feast  and  daily  food  to  them.  A  slip 
of  a  girl,  hardly  seventeen  :  lissome  as  a  passion-flowei 
vine ;  her  clear  skin  pale  and  dark  with  the  passionate 
colorless  glow  of  the  South,  her  purple-black  hair 
hanging  in  two  shining  braids  from  a  head  fit  to  be 
modelled  for  Hebe ;  her  smooth,  low  forehead  based  by 
two  straight  black  brows,  beautiful  and  threatening  as 


I4  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

a  just-defined  thunder-cloud;  her  great  lustrous  eyes 
full  of  slumberous  passion,  full  of  the  joy  of  happy  girl- 
hood full  of  pride  and  courage,  and  with  a  power  of 
pathos  nascent  in  their  depths  which  the  birds  and  the 
butterflies  and  the  roses  had  never  yet  seen  called  out, 
had  never  demanded  or  dreamed  of.    But  her  mouth  1 
there  was  perhaps  the  keystone  of  Valerie's  beauty. 
Yes,  the  petals  of  the  roses  were  velvety,  and  pul- 
sating with  fire,  were  of  a  color  impossible  to  define 
or  reproduce,  were    fragrant,   and  delicious  to   the 
touch ;  but  the  rose-leaves  were  not  alive,  they  did 
not  curve,  and  pout,  and  suddenly  part  in  dazzling 
smiles  above  little  pearls  of  teeth :  they  were  not  the 
lips  of  Valerie,  nor  could  they  by  movement  produce 
those  little  wells  of  mirth  and  caresses,  and  possible 
tears,  the  fossettes,  the  dimples  which  came  and  went 
as  Valerie  smiled.    It  was  after  all  the  mouth,  Fran- 
cois said  to  himself  as  he  stood  gazing  at  her  while 
she  played  with    El  Moro  her  Spanish  greyhound, 
forcing  him  to  eat  the  purple  and  amber  grapes  she 
pulled  from  the  vine  above  her  head,  while  she  sat 
throned  upon  a  seat  formed  in  the  lowest  branches 
of  an  oak  near  the  borders  of  the  garden.     Flecks  of 
sunlight  pierced  the  foliage  and  lay  like  golden  orna- 
ments upon  the  whiteness  of  her  dress,  glowed  in  the 
ruby  bracelet  upon  her  arm,  and  lighted  the  dusky 
masses  of  her  hair  to  purple  sheen.    Yes,  it  was  her 
mouth,  that  mouth  whose  coy  kisses  had  grown  so 
rare  within  the  last  year,  but  had  become  so  much 
more  precious  than  the  soulless  caresses  of  childhood. 
Last  night,  when  they  quarrelled  and  were  reconciled, 
she  kissed  him  twice,  and  — 


PROVENCE  ROSES.  15 

"Well,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  broke  in  the  ringing 
roice  of  Valerie,  "are  you  envying  El  Moro  his  feast, 
or  axe  you  composing  a  Latin  poem  for  your  tutor,  or 
have  you  gone  to  sleep?  You  stand  there  leaning 
against  that  tree,  and  looking  at  me  as  if  you  never 
had  seen  me  before." 

"  Perhaps  I  wish  I  never  had,"  replied  Francois  a 
little  moodily,  as  he  sauntered  across  the  space  of  sun- 
light between  the  cork-tree  and  the  oak,  and  stood 
leaning  against  the  latter,  his  arm  resting  upon  the 
footstool  of  the  rustic  seat. 

"  Perhaps  you,  —  there,  run  away,  mon  Moro  :  run 
and  catch  a  cricket  to  take  the  flavor  of  the  grapes  out 
of  your  mouth, — perhaps  you  wish  you  had  never  seen 
me,  Francois?  And  why ?  " 

She  leaned  one  cheek  upon  her  hand,  as  she 
stooped  smiling  toward  him,  and  the  other  hand  rested 
lightly  and  caressingly  upon  his  head.  He  caught  it 
in  his  own,  and,  raising  his  face,  looked  long  and 
ardently  up  into  hers.  And  it  is  a  pity  some  great 
painter  had  not  been  hidden  among  the  roses  to  catch 
that  picture,  and  make  himself  immortal  by  it ;  for  the 
baron  Francois  was  as  nearly  handsome  as  a  manly 
man  should  be,  and  had  inherited  from  his  Norman 
mother  all  the  high  and  haughty  characteristics  of  her 
race,  —  the  cold,  clear  eyes,  blue  as  steel,  and  betimes 
as  trenchant  and  as  cruel,  the  fair  complexion,  proud, 
thin-lipped  mouth,  and  tawny  golden  hair.  His  fig- 
ure, too,  differed  largely  from  the  delicate  elegance 
lapsing  into  sensuous  roundness  of  his  Provencal  sires, 
and  was  tall,  large-boned,  powerful,  and  soldierly,  like 


!6  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

those  companions  who  followed  William  the  Conquerei 
to  the  field  of  Hastings.  But  just  now  the  steely 
eyes  were  dim  with  tender  fears,  and  the  severe  mouth 
was  tremulous  with  loving  words ;  and  the  hand  fit  to 
wield  a  battle-axe  was  clasped  in  timid  constraint  over 
the  tiny  fingers  of  the  Provencal  girl,  as  he  slowlj 
answered :  — 

"Because,  if  you  do  not  love  me,  and  love  me 
always,  you  will  be  the  misfortune  of  my  life." 

"What,  I,  little  I?  I  who  can  never  learn  the  fine 
things  you  and  the  abbe"  try  to  teach  me  ?  Little  frivo- 
lous, childish  I,  who  am  fit  for  nothing  but  to  play  with 
El  Moro,  and  pelt  Mademoiselle  Salerne  with  roses, 
and  tease  old  Marie's  life  out,  and  sing  chansons  to 
my  guitar,  and  "  — 

"  And  make  the  joy  of  my  poor  life,  Valerie." 

"  I  again?  What !  poor  little  I,  the  present  joy  and 
possible  misfortune  of  life  to  so  very  grave  and  learned 
a  youth  as  Francois,  le  Baron  de  "  — 

"  Francois,  the  lover  of  Valerie  ! "  interposed  the 
young  baron,  catching  in  his  own  the  other  little  hand, 
and  covering  them  both  with  kisses,  beneath  whose 
breath  a  dusky  crimson  crept  slowly  up  into  the  girl's 
cheek,  and  lighted  its  pallor  as  fire  shows  through 
cream-white  porcelain. 

"Mamzelle  !  Mamzelle  Valerie  !  Ma  petite  \  where 
then,  do  you  hide  ?  Answer,  for  the  love  of  the  Virgin  i 
Mamzelle,  I  say  ! " 

"  Now  what  does  Marie  want,  do  you  suppose  ?  " 
exclaimed  Marie's  nursling,  in  a  tone  of  comic  vexa- 
tion. "Has  she  found  another  egg  in  my  canary 


PROVENCE  ROSES.  1 7 

bird's  nest?  or  has  the  cat  turned  over  in  her  sleep? 
or  —  oh,  horrors  !  has  she  discovered  the  fearful  rent  I 
made  in  my  new  dress  last  night,  by  running  against  a 
rose-bush  in  the  dark?  Now  that  was  your  fault, 
Francois,  and  "  — 

"  Here  she  is  !  I  was  just  going  to  propose  escap- 
ing into  the  labyrinth ;  but  it  is  too  late.  Well,  Marie, 
here  is  Mademoiselle  Valerie." 

"So  I  ^ee,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  panted  the  old 
woman,  holding  on  to  her  fat  sides,  and  casting  re- 
proachful glances  up  into  the  tree,  where  Valerie's 
bright  and  glowing  face  laughed  down  at  her. 

"  If  you  had  but  answered  me,  mademoiselle,  you 
would  have  had  the  news  sooner." 

"  And  saved  your  poor  old  legs,  nursey,"  replied  the 
child  with  a  burst  of  tinkling  laughter.  "  Well,  now 
you  have  found  me,  what  is  it  ?  Has  the  king  come  to 
ask  me  to  marry  monseigneur  the  dauphin  ?  He  is  a 
thought  young  for  me,  but  still "  — 

"You  might  have  guessed  farther  afield,  my  pop- 
pet," replied  the  nurse  with  a  sagacious  nod  of  the 
head ;  "  for  it  is,  if  not  the  king,  one  of  the  king's 
gentlemen ;  and,  as  for  his  errand,  who  knows?" 

"  One  of  the  king's  gentlemen  !  What  do  you 
mean,  nurse?"  demanded  Francois,  turning  so  sud- 
denly that  the  old  woman  uttered  an  affected  little 
slirick. 

"  Mercy,  Monsieur  le  Baron  !  you  need  not  eat  me 
up  alive  with  your  sharpr  way*  so  like  madame  the 
comtesse,  whom  you  do  not  remember." 

And  Marie  crossed  herself  with  a  very  expressive 


1 8  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

shake  of  the  head,  as  if  she  were  not  sorry  that  the 
Norman  countess  was  at  rest  and  quiet. 

"But  who  is  it?  Speak,  will  you,  you  provoking 
creature?"  demanded  Valerie  petulantly,  as  she  put 
one  foot  down  to  the  lower  branch  of  the  tree  in 
preparation  for  descent. 

"Well  then,"  replied  the  old  woman  with  evident 
enjoyment  of  the  consternation  she  was  about  to 
evoke,  —  "  well,  then,  Monsieur  le  Comte  has  arrived, 
and  with  him  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  Gaston." 

"  My  father  and  Gaston  ! "  exclaimed  Francois  in 
great  astonishment ;  while  Valerie  sprang  lightly  to  the 
ground,  and  passed  her  hand  over  her  hair,  adjusted 
her  necklace  and  bracelets,  and  plumed  herself  like  a 
bird. 

"Yes,  as  I  tell  you,  and  here  they  are,"  replied 
Marie,  pointing  to  the  terrace  leading  down  from  the 
chateau,  where  now  appeared  the  mean  and  insignifi- 
cant figure  of  the  Comte  de  Montarnaud,  his  handsome 
scowling  son  Gaston,  and  two  or  three  attendants,  the 
latter  apparently  offering  explanations  and  apologies 
which  the  count  waved  impatiently  and  contemptu- 
ously aside. 

"Valerie  1 "  murmured  Francois,  as  the  two  hastened 
to  meet  the  new-comers ;  and  Marie  kept  as  close  as 
possible  upon  their  heels,  not  to  lose  the  explanation 
and  possible  scene  impending, 

"Valerie,  I  am  sure  that  ill  fortune  is  upon  us. 
Promise  me  that  you  will  always  love  me;  promise 
that  you  will  never  marry  another  man ;  promise  "  -~ 

"  Oh>  hush>  Francois !  you  make  me  nervous  with 


PROVENCE  ROSES.  IQ 

your  tragic  air,  and  your  '  Promise,  promise  ! '  Who 
speaks  of  marrying  anybody?  See,  your  father  is 
already  frowning  at  you ;  hold  up  your  head,  and  look 
like  a  man  instead  of  a  schoolboy.  How  handsome 
Gaston  has  grown  ! " 

"  Frivolous  and  trifling !  "  muttered  Francois  bit- 
terly, and  he  dropped  a  step  behind  his  companion, 
who  ran  eagerly  forward,  both  hands  extended,  eyes 
and  lips  bright  with  smiles,  exclaiming  joyfully,  — 

"Ah,  monsieur  my  god-papa,  how  glad  we  are  tc 
receive  you  !  Monsieur  Gaston  also  !  But  why  did 
not  you  let  us  know  that  you  were  coming?  We 
would  have  received  you  more  worthily." 

"Truth  to  tell,  mademoiselle,"  replied  the  count, 
whose  brow  showed  a  decided  cloud,  "the  chateau 
seems  but  carelessly  kept,  considering  it  holds  so  rare 
a  treasure  as  yourself.  I  found  Monsieur  l'Abb6  Des- 
pard,  my  son's  tutor,  confessing  Mademoiselle  Sa- 
lerne,  my  ward's  governess,  while  their  two  charges 
were  hidden,  —  who  knows  where  ?  " 


20  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  BLIGHT  UPON  THE  ROSES. 

Ab  he  master  of  the  house  thus  publicly  pro- 
ouimed  his  discontent  with  his  reception,  a 
saiall  tumult  of  defence  arose  from  the  parties  ac- 
cused. The  abbe",  a  handsome  young  priest,  whom 
Francois  had  for  a  considerable  period  governed  as 
he  would,  bowed  humbly  and  exclaimed,  — 

"Pardon,  a  thousand  pardons,  monsieur,  but"  — 
while  Mademoiselle  Salerne  the  governess,  an  equally 
good-looking  young  woman  with  whom  Valerie  seldom 
had  any  trouble  since  she  had  clearly  established  their 
relative  positions,  clasped  both  hands,  bent  her  knee 
as  if  about  to  prostrate  herself,  and  shrieked,  — 

"  But  can  monsieur  suspect  me  of  neglect  of  duty ! 
Me  !  Oh,  no,  no !  never,  it  can  never  be ;  for  made- 
moiselle will  explain,  that  we  had  but  just  now  finished 
our  lessons,  and  "  — 

"Of  course,  Salerne,"  interposed  Valerie,  with 
good-humored  contempt,  —  "  of  course  monsieur  un- 
derstands that  you  are  all  which  is  faithful  and  trust- 
worthy; and  if  I  am  idle,  and  like  to  rest  in  the 
garden  rather  than  to  work  in  the  house,  it  is  my  own 
fault." 

"Or  mine,  since  I  asked  you  to  come  out  this  after- 


A   BLIGHT  UPON  THE  ROSES.  21 

noon,  not  supposing  that  my  father  intended  that  I 
should  be  kept  at  my  task  like  a  schoolboy,  now  that 
I  am  old  enough  to  wear  a  sword,  and  "  — 

"  There,  there,  there,  there  !  "  exclaimed  the  count, 
raising  both  hands  to  his  ears :  "  I  had  no  idea  of 
rousing  such  a  hornet's  nest  by  my  idle  remark. 
Mademoiselle,  let  me  lead  you  to  the  house."  And, 
offering  his  hand  to  Valerie  with  all  the  stately  dignity 
of  the  court,  he  led  her  on  between  the  beds  of  roses, 
which  seemed  'Suddenly  to  lose  their  color  and  their 
fragrance,  and  up  the  broken,  shallow  steps  to  the 
terrace,  and  so  into  the  old  chateau,  with  its  sparse 
and  antique  furniture,  its  mouldering  tapestries  and 
tarnished  gildings ;  for  the  counts  of  Montarnaud 
had  spent  many  a  fair  fortune  coming  to  them  in  the 
hand  of  the  heiresses  they  loved  to  marry,  spent  it  in 
war,  sometimes  for  and  sometimes  against  their  liege 
lord,  the  king ;  spent  it  in  mad  revelry,  in  gaming,  in 
luxury,  in  every  form  of  self-delight,  until  when  Raoul, 
the  present  count,  came  to  his  dignities,  he  found 
them  so  shorn  of  the  means  of  maintenance  that  he 
had  spent  very  nearly  all  of  what  remained  in  dancing 
attendance  first  at  the  court  of  Louis  XIII.,  that  is  to 
say,  at  the  court  of  Cardinal  Richelieu,  and  then  at 
that  of  the  Regent  Anne  of  Austria,  that  is  to  say,  at 
that  of  Mazarin.  Finally  he  was  at  present  bending 
his  aged  knees  at  the  shrine  of  the  young  King  Louii 
XIV.,  who,  so  far  from  being  the  shadow  of  a  prime 
minister,  had  given  to  the  ministers,  who  desired  to 
know  upon  the  death  of  Mazarin  to  whom  they  were 
to  apply  for  orders,  the  truly  royal  answer,  — 


22  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Mot-mime  !  " 

But  this  devotion,  bringing  no  especial  pleasure  or 
advantage  to  either  the  cardinals,  the  queen-regent, 
the  young  king  or  his  mistresses,  naturally  brought  no 
profit  to  the  aged  courtier,  whose  influence  was 
stretched  to  its  utmost  limit  in  procuring  the  appoint- 
ment of  captain  of  cavalry  for  his  eldest  son,  and  the 
privilege  for  himself  of  winning  a  few  louis  d'or  now 
and  again  at  the  royal  card-tables. 

The  causes  thus  accreted  had  to-day  produced  two 
effects :  the  first,  that  the  Chateau  de  Montarnaud 
was  very  poorly  furnished  and  very  meagrely  kept; 
the  second,  that  the  count  would  not  have  failed  to 
obey  any  command  the  king  had  deigned  to  lay  upon 
him,  if  it  had  involved  carrying  Mademoiselle  de 
Rochenbois  to  Paris  in  fetters,  and  obtaining  a  lettre- 
de-cachet  for  Francois  if  he  opposed  the  movement. 

Such  extreme  measures  were  not,  however,  likely  to 
prove  necessary  in  the  opinion  of  the  count,  who 
knew  his  world  as  well  as  Monsieur  de  Meaux  knew 
his  Bible,  or  Louis  XIV.  his  own  importance.  So,  in 
leading  the  young  girl  into  the  chateau,  he  dropped 
the  imperious  and  fault-finding  tone  he  had  assumed 
among  his  dependents  and  toward  his  son,  and  spoke 
of  the  gayeties  of  the  court,  of  the  magnificence  of 
the  young  king  and  the  splendors  of  his  entertain- 
ments, of  the  new-born  beauties  of  Versailles,  the  new 
comedies  of  Moliere  performed  in  the  royal  theatre 
of  that  palace,  and  of  the  charms  of  several  of  the 
court  ladies;  ending  with  a  significant  glance  and 
b w,  as  he  added,  — 


A  BLIGHT  UPON  THE  ROSES.  23 

"Not  but  what  I  think  we  might  rival  even  the 
dazzling  beauty  of  the  Marquise  de  Montespan,  not 
to  mention  inferior  charms,  by  the  importation  inte 
••he  capital  of  attractions  quite  as  aristocratic  and  cul 
tivated,  and  infinitely  fresher.  In  fact,  mademoiselle 
the  king  himself  has  been  good  enough  to  inquire  whj 
you  were  not  presented  already,  and  to  give  orderi 
that  the  ceremony  should  no  longer  be  delayed.  Does 
that  please  you  ?  " 

The  color  mounted  swiftly  to  the  young  girl's  face, 
and  before  replying  she  cast  a  glance  through  the 
glass-door  by  which  they  had  just  entered  the  saloon. 
Upon  the  terrace  stood  Francois  with  his  brother  Gas- 
ton  ;  and,  although  their  conversation  was  inaudible, 
the  looks  and  gestures  of  both  indicated  annoyance  on 
the  part  of  the  younger,  insolence  on  the  part  of  the 
elder,  and  a  most  unfraternal  state  of  feeling  on  the 
part  of  both.  The  count's  eyes  followed  those  of  his 
ward,  and  rested  upon  the  two  young  men  with  a  look 
of  dissatisfaction  for  a  moment ;  then  he  said,  — 

"  Francois  is  nothing  but  a  boy,  and  needs  to  see 
the  world.  I  think  I  will  close  the  chateau  now  that 
you  are  about  to  leave  it,  and  send  him  to  travel  with 
the  abbe*  for  a  while.  He  will  come  home  a  man." 

"  It  is  quite  determined,  then,  that  I  should  go  to 
Paris  !  "  exclaimed  Valerie  in  a  startled  tone. 

"  The  king  himself  invites  you  to  do  so,"  replied 
the  count  smoothly.  "  And  what  is  more,  my  dear,  he 
wishes  you  to  be  presented  as  Madame  the  Vicomtesse 
de  Montarnaud." 

"Monsieur !  I  the  wife  of  Gaston  !     Impossible  1 " 


24  4  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"And  why  impossible,  mademoiselle?  Gastou  * 
not  an  ffl-looking  fellow ;  he  has  a  good  position  in  th« 
army,  with  prospects  of  promotion,  since  his  Majesty 
deigns  to  notice  him ;  he  loves  you  romantically ;  I, 
•  his  father,  and  your  guardian,  beg  you  to  listen  favora- 
bly to  his  suit ;  and,  most  important  of  all,  the  king 
commands  you  to  do  so." 

"O  monsieur!"  and  choking  with  anger,  grief, 
and  terror,  the  young  girl  hid  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  rushed  from  the  room. 

The  Count  de  Montamaud  looked  after  her,  wrinkled 
his  leathern  cheeks  in  a  smile  of  marvellous  cunning, 
and  slowly  inhaled  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  Une  ingenue!  "  murmured  he,  dusting  some  grains 
of  the  fragrant  dust  from  his  jabot ;  "  but  it  is  a  fault 
that  cures  itself,  and  wfll  make  her  none  the  less 
attractive  at  court.  It  was  poor  La  Valliere's  road  to 


BETWEEN  TWO  DAYS.  2$ 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BETWEEN   TWO   DAYS. 

THE  conversation  of  the  brothers,  meantime,  was 
no  more  amicable  than  it  looked.  Truth  to  tell, 
no  great  affection  had  ever  assisted  between  them 
since  early  childhood,  when  the  mother's  undisguised 
partiality  for  the  son  who  inherited  her  physique,  very 
much  of  her  character,  and  the  family  title  she  had 
reluctantly  abandoned  in  assuming  that  of  Mont- 
arnaud,  had  sown  the  seeds  of  jealousy  in  the  ardent 
Southern  temperament  of  the  elder,  and  had  given 
Fran£ois  a  certain  independence  and  assurance  of 
manner  ill  fitting  him  in  later  days  to  submit  to  the 
domination  of  a  brother.  Another  cause  of  annoy- 
ance to  Gaston  was  the  fact  that  while  himself  remain- 
ing dependent  upon  his  father's  very  slender  resources, 
his  title  of  vicomte  being  but  an  empty  honor,  his 
brother  inherited,  with  his  mother's  family  name  and 
title,  a  very  pretty  little  property,  whose  modest  in- 
come was  paid  directly  into  his  own  hands,  and  added, 
perhaps  unnecessarily,  to  the  independence  of  his 
manner,  and  reticence  as  to  his  movements.  The 
perils  of  excessive  riches  were,  however,  greatly  les- 
sened by  the  policy  of  the  young  baron's  father,  who 
during  his  non-age  exacted  so  large  a  proportion  of 


26  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

his  revenue  toward  the  maintenance  of  the  household, 
that  there  was  no  great  danger  of  extravagant  habits 
growing  up  in  the  young  man's  life,  especially  as  he 
had  always  lived  in  the  Chateau  de  Montarnaud,  and 
never  visited  any  city  larger  than  Marseilles.  This 
seclusion  had  induced  a  certain  rusticity  of  dress, 
speech,  and  manner,  affording  infinite  amusement  of 
an  unamiable  nature  to  the  elder  brother,  who  had, 
since  boyhood,  lived  mostly  with  his  father  in  Paris, 
and  later  had  mingled  in  the  army  with  the  gay  gal- 
lants of  the  court  who  either  for  their  sins,  or  from 
ambitious  motives,  had  sought  the  variety  of  killing  a 
few  Dutchmen  or  Spaniards,  as  the  case  might  be,  or 
at  least  of  airing  the  ribbons,  scarfs,  and  favors  of 
their  lady-loves  upon  the  field  of  battle.  In  every 
folly,  every  new  affectation  or  whimsical  device,  Gas- 
ton  de  Montarnaud  suffered  not  even  De  Lauzun  or 
De  Guiche  to  surpass  him  so  far  as  his  revenues  would 
permit ;  and,  as  insolence  and  flippancy  are  but  cheap 
luxuries,  he  possessed  them  in  abundance. 

As  the  Count  de  Montarnaud  led  his  ward  toward 
the  chateau,  and  the  brothers  followed,  Francois  pale 
and  disturbed,  Gaston  in  unusually  high  spirits,  the 
latter  opened  the  conversation  by  remarking,  — 

"That  is  a  wonderfully  happy  effort  of  old  Marie's 
in  your  doublet,  Francois.  It  is  a  great  economy  for 
you  that  she  can  fashion  them  from  the  old  bed- 
hangings,  is  it  not?" 

"My  doublet  was  fashioned  by  the  best  tailor  in 
Marseilles,  from  his  best  piece  of  stuff;  and,  which  will 
perhaps  strike  you  as  incredible,  vicomte,  it  is  paid 
for,"  replied  Francois  sententiously. 


BETWEEN  TWO  DAYS.  2 7 

"  It  does  seem  incredible  that  any  man  in  his  senses 
should  pay  for  such  a  garment  as  that.  But  you  had 
nothing  to  pay  for  that  dagger  and  sheath,  my  prudent 
brother ;  for  I  recognize  it  as  the  one  our  ancestor 
Count  Paul  wore  at  Cressy." 

"  Not  of  quite  so  old  a  fashion  as  that,  brother,  al- 
though not  new,"  replied  Francois  tranquilly.  "  It  is 
the  dagger  with  which  about  a  century  ago  Reginald 
de  Montarnaud,  who  was  a  Catholic,  slew  his  elder 
brother  who  was  a  Huguenot,  and  had,  moreover, 
stolen  the  promised  bride  of  the  younger." 

"The  younger  brothers  of  our  house  have  ever 
been  envious  of  their  elders ;  but  in  these  days  it  is 
the  elder  who  is  the  soldier,  while  the  younger  weaves 
daisy-chains  in  the  gardens  of  Montarnaud,"  retorted 
Gaston  with  a  sneer.  "  But,  unhappily,  for  the  future, 
my  dear  boy,  you  must  pursue  your  sports  alone. 
Your  playmate  goes  to  Paris  with  me  to-morrow." 

"  With  you,  indeed  ! " 

"  With  my  father  and  me,  since  you  are  so  precise, 
Monsieur  Huguenot ;  and,  by  the  way,  you  had  better 
look. up  a  suit  of  our  great-grandfather's  court  clothes, 
in  which  to  dance  at  my  wedding  a  week  or  so 
hence." 

'*  And  *hom  do  you  marry,  if  I  may  inquire?"  de- 
manded Francois,  turning  pale  as  death,  and  clinch- 
ing his  hand  upon  the  pommel  of  his  dagger. 

"What,  has  not  my  little  Valerie  told  you?  oh  the 
pretty  coquetries  of  these  timid  darlings  !  "  exclaimed 
Gaston  in  a  coxcombical  tone ;  but  Francois  was  too 
much  affected  by  the  matter  to  attend  much  to  th? 


28  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAM 

manner  of  his  speech,  and  could  only  repeat  "Va* 
lerie  !  "  in  a  tone  of  dismay  and  terror  that  delighted 
Gaston  beyond  measure.  He  twirled  his  mustache, 
smiled  insufferably,  set  his  left  arm  akimbo,  and  re- 
plied, — 

"  Yes,  Valerie,  my  little  baron.  The  king  himself 
commands  the  nuptials,  I  have  consented,  the  lady  is 
delighted,  and  my  father  hastens  on  the  affair.  Made- 
moiselle de  Rochenbois  with  her  servants,  and  es- 
corted by  my  father  and  myself,  sets  out  for  Paris 
to-morrow  morning ;  and  the  marriage  will  be  cele- 
brated in  the  royal  chapel  of  Versailles  immediately 
upon  our  arrival.  You  knew,  of  course,  that  I  was  so 
happy  as  to  possess  Mademoiselle  Valerie's  approval, 
and  that  the  marriage  was  in  process  of  arrange- 
ment?" 

"  I  knew  that  you  were  a  liar  when  you  were  a  boy, 
and  I  have  no  reason  to  imagine  you  improved  since," 
replied  Francois,  staring  steadily  into  the  eyes  of  his 
brother,  who,  returning  the  look  more  fiercely  if  less 
fixedly,  slowly  replied, — 

"Among  gentlemen,  Monsieur  le  Baron  de  "  — 

"  Gaston !  Gaston,  I  say  1 "  chimed  in  the  shrill 
voice  of  the  Count  de  Montarnaud,  whose  subtle  in- 
stinct warned  him  that  the  quarrel  of  the  brothers  was 
at  &  point  where  interference  without  apparent  suspi- 
cion was  his  most  appropriate  rdle,  and,  advancing  as 
he  spoke,  he  ended  by  linking  his  arm  in  that  of  his 
elder  son,  and  leading  him  away ;  while  Francois  with 
i  furious  gesture  rushed  into  the  chateau,  and  vainly 
wught  through  all  its  orecincts  for  Valerie,  who  was 


BETWEEN  TWO  DAYS.  2c, 

closely  shut  in  her  own  room,  refusing  to  admit  even 
Marie  or  Mademoiselle  Salerne.  This  state  of  tilings 
continued  until  nine  o'clock,  the  hour  for  supper, 
when  Marie  appeared  to  report  that  mademoiselle  had 
a  headache,  and  required  nothing,  but  wished  her 
guardian  and  the  young  gentlemen  a  very  good  night. 
As  the  old  woman  a  few  moments  later  passed  through 
a  dark  corridor  between  the  dining-saloon  and  the 
staircase,  she  was  frightened  nearly  out  of  her  senses 
by  a  cold  hand  grasping  her  own,  into  which  it  pressed 
a  paper  and  a  silver  piece,  while  a  voice  hoarsely  mut- 
tered, — 

"  Give  the  paper  to  your  mistress  without  delay." 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  oh  !  I  took  you  for,  1 
know  not  what !  Oh,  such  a  fright  as  you  have  given 
me!" 

"  Never  mind  :  silver  will  cure  it,  old  woman.  How 
is  mademoiselle?  What  is  she  doing?" 

"  Doing  !  She  is  doing  nothing,  nor  will  she  allow 
me  to  do  any  thing,  although  monsieur  tells  me  to  be 
all  ready  to  set  out  with  mademoiselle  for  Paris  in  the 
morning,  to  come  back  perhaps  never.  And  there 
she  sits  at  this  blessed  moment,  I  dare  say,  in  the 
great  fauteuil  that  was  madame  the  countess's,  her 
elbow  on  its  arm,  her  pretty  chin  in  her  hand,  her 
great  eyes  fixed  on  the  black  square  of  sky  outside 
her  casement  (for  I  am  sure  she  can  see  nothing 
else)  ;  and  never  a  word  can  I  get  from  her  except, 
'  Hold  your  tongue,'  and  '  I  want  nothing,'  and  *  Let 
me  alone,  good  Marie  ! '  Not  so  much  as  to  say 
which  of  her  dresses  is  to  be  packed,  and  whethet 
the  will  carry  El  Moro  and  the  canary-birds." 


3O  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Well,  go,  good  ^larie,  go  and  give  her  my  note, 
and  perhaps  there  will  be  a  change,"  whispered  Fran- 
9ois  hurriedly,  for  footsteps  were  approaching;  and 
while  the  nurse  clambered  wearily  up  the  stair,  the 
lover  strode  out  into  the  night,  leaving  his  father  and 
brother  to  take  their  supper,  and  mature  their  plans  for 
the  morrow,  without  his  help. 

Two  hours  or  so  later  the  chateau  was  quiet,  its 
lights  extinguished,  its  inmates  supposed  to  be  asleep 
hi  preparation  for  the  fatigues  of  the  morrow ;  but, 
'whether  in  houses  or  their  inmates,  great  apparent 
calms  occasionally  cover  intensity  of  emotion  or 
action. 

The  count,  to  be  sure,  slept  on  principle ;  for  he,  too, 
had  principles,  logical  outgrowth  of  his  religion,  a  com- 
fortable faith  comprised  in  one  tenet,  viz. :  To  gain 
the  utmost  personal  advantage  at  the  least  possible 
personal  sacrifice. 

One  of  the  leading  principles  of  this  faith  was  care 
of  the  digestive  organs,  and  the  securing  of  that 
amount  of  rest  and  sleep  essential  to  a  person  no 
longer  young,  who  desires  to  retain  the  appearance  of 
youth.  So  the  count  having  supped  artistically,  gen- 
tly ruminated  sufficiently,  and  gone  to  bed  cheerfully, 
now  slept  peacefully,  and  was  out  of  the  question. 

Valerie  de  Rochenbois,  on  the  contrary,  was  per- 
haps more  widely  awake  than  she  had  ever  been  in 
all  her  life,  for  she  was  thinking  more  deeply.  The 
few  words  dropped  by  her  guardian,  and  the  express- 
ive glances  of  his  elder  son,  had  conveyed  to  hei 
quick  intuition  the  whole  story  of  their  visit  and  in- 


BETWEEN  TWO  DAYS.  3! 

tentions  in  her  behalf;  her  facile  fancy  already  pic- 
tured existence  at  the  gorgeous  court  of  Versailles^ 
herself  one  of  those  admired  and  fortunate  beings  of 
whose  elegance,  beauty,  and  luxury  she  had  heard  so 
much  :  and  the  picture  was  very  alluring  to  the  pleas- 
ure-loving fancy  of  the  girl.  True,  the  figure  of  Gaston 
de  Montarnaud,  whom  she  did  not  very  much  like, 
made  an  unpleasant  shadow  in  the  scene  ;  but  Valerie , 
had  a  grand  capacity  for  closing  her  eyes  upon  things 
she  did  not  wish  to  see,  and,  like  many  another  girl 
called  to  a  similar  decision,  she  was  too  maidenly  a 
maid  to  know  how  important  an  item  the  husband  is 
in  a  woman's  married  life. 

Contrasting  with  Gaston  to  whom  she  was  indiffer- 
ent, stood  Francois  whom  she  loved, — no,  liked  with  a 
promise  of  love,  —  and  toward  whom  just  now  she  felt 
a  species  of  resentment  for  having,  by  his  declaration 
of  that  afternoon,  evoked  certain  feelings  in  her  own 
heart  interfering  with  the  single-sighted  delight  she 
otherwise  would  have  felt  in  the  brilliant  prospect 
opened  to  her  by  Gaston  and  his  father. 

To  sum  up  this  most  contrarious  and  yet  essen- 
tially feminine  state  of  mind,  she  foresaw  that  she 
should  hate  the  man  she  wished  to  marry,  and  she 
already  began  to  love  him  whose  fortunes  she  did  not 
wish  to  share ;  and  she  was  vexed  at  Francois  that  he 
could  not  give  her  what  Gaston  offered,  and  felt  a  cold 
repulsion  toward  Gaston,  in  that  he  coupled  himself 
with  what  he  offered. 

No  wonder,  plunged  into  this  conflict  of  two  tides, 
and  not  knowing  into  what  maelstrom  they  would  soon 


32  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

whirl  her,  that  Valerie's  great  dark  eyes  ached  with  the 
intensity  of  their  wakefulness,  or  that  she  declined, 
both  sharply  and  briefly,  to  decide  upon  the  merits  of 
the  pink  paduasoy,  or  the  somewhat  frayed  brocade,  or 
to  give  directions  for  the  conveyance  of  her  canary- 
birds.  Poor  old  Marie,  in  fact,  had  suffered  so  many 
and  such  severe  repressions,  that  it  was  in  a  silence 
most  unwonted  that  she  entered  the  chamber  after  her 
brief  interview  with  the  baron,  and  laid  his  note  upon 
the  lap  of  her  young  mistress,  still  seated  in  the  deep 
fauteuil,  still  staring  fixedly  at  the  blackness  beyond  her 
window.  Valerie,  half-eagerly,  hay-angrily,  caught  up 
the  paper,  and  approached  the  candles  burning  upon 
the  dressing-table  :  its  contents  were  brief,  and  to  her 
fancy  somewhat  peremptory :  — 

"I  must  see  you  before  the  morning,  that  you  may  reply 
distinctly  to  my  offer  of  hand  and  heart  and  name,  before  you 
are  called  upon  to  answer  a  similar  offer  from  my  brother.  I 
shall  be  under  your  window  as  the  clock  strikes  midnight,  and 
hope  you  will  be  there  ready  to  answer  simply  and  truthfully  the 
question  I  have  asked,  and  ask  again:  Will  you  be  mine, 
Valerie,  my  wife,  and  my  beloved?  It  is  the  most  solemn 
utterance  of  my  whole  life :  do  not  play  with  it,  do  not  trifle 
with  your  reply. 

FRANCOIS." 

As  the  young  girl  read  these  words,  a  blush,  a  smile, 
a  frown,  passed  in  rapid  alternation  across  her  face  j 
and  then  she  stood  meditating,  folding  and  re-folding 
the  paper  between  her  fingers,  and  finally  holding  it  in 
the  flame  of  the  candle  until  it  fell  a  floating  cinder 
upon  the  polished  floor. 


CAIN  AND  ABEL.  33 


CHAPTER  V. 

CAIN  AND   ABEL. 

THE  count  slept,  Valerie  meditated,  Francoii 
waited,  and  Gaston  prowled.  The  fact  was, 
that  this  young  man,  although  half  a  century  before 
the  time  of  Voltaire  and  Rousseau,  was  a  bit  of  a 
philosopher  on  his  own  account,  and,  banished  from 
the  polished  circles  of  the  court  and  the  smiles  of 
Madame  de  Montespan,  could  solace  himself  very 
tolerably  with  certain  village  companions,  not  as  re- 
fined certainly,  but  perhaps  quite  as  edifying  to  his 
moral  character,  as  the  cavaliers  and  grandes  dames  of 
Versailles.  When,  therefore,  the  Count  de  Montarnaud 
left  the  salon  to  secure  his  beauty-sleep,  Monsieur  le 
Viromte,  throwing  a  dark  cloak  about  him,  strolled 
down  through  the  garden  and  over  a  field  or  two  by  a 
way  quite  familiar  to  his  feet  since  boyhood,  to  the 
auberge  of  the  wretched  village  of  Montarnaud,  where 
he  knew  that  a  little  circle  of  flatterers  and  vassals 
would  hail  his  appearance  with  slavish  delight. 

But  oh,  the  wheels  within  the  wheels  of  even  so  tiny 
a  microcosm  as  the  Chateau  de  Montarnaud  ! 

Mademoiselle  Salerne,  aged  twenty-six,  and  not  ill- 
looking,  had  allowed  her  heart  as  she  would  have  said, 
her  fancy  as  we  will  call  it,  to  go  astray,  secret! v  to  lie 


34  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

sure,  but  none  the  less  violently,  in  the  direction  of  the 
vicomte,  whose  sinister  face  and  supple  form  seemed 
to  her  those  of  a  Antinous,  whose  insolent  and  affected 
manners  were  in  her  estimation  the  ideal  of  dignity 
and  high-breeding,  and  whose  careless  compliments, 
flung  at  her  from  time  to  time  merely  because  Gaston 
de  Montarnaud  knew  no  other  mode  of  addressing  a 
good-looking  young  woman,  stood  for  so  many  avowals 
of  love. 

When,  therefore,  Mademoiselle  Salerne  discovered, 
hi  some  occult  fashion  of  her  own,  that  the  object  of 
her  idol's  present  visit  to  Montarnaud  was  to  woo  her 
pupil  for  his  wife,  and  was  informed  that  she  as  gou- 
vernante  to  Mademoiselle  de  Rochenbois  would  on  the 
morrow  accompany  her  to  Paris,  the  state  of  mingled 
jealousy,  pleasure,  doubt,  and  agitation  taking  posses- 
sion of  her  mind  was  something  as  terrific  as  the 
proverbial  tempest  in  a  teapot,  and  quite  sufficient  to 
banish  slumber  from  the  beady  black  eyes  of  the  vic- 
tim, even  had  she  not  found  the  night  too  short  to 
furbish  up  her  dilapidated  wardrobe,  and  prepare  for 
her  journey. 

Hence  it  came,  that,  as  Gaston  quietly  left  the  cha- 
teau, Adele  Salerne  first  peeped  out  of  her  window 
after  his  retreating  figure,  and  then,  moved  by  some 
vague  impulse  of  jealousy  and  suspicion,  seized  a 
mantle,  and,  flinging  it  round  her  head  and  shoul- 
ders, ran  swiftly  through  the  corridor  and  down  the 
stairs  in  pursuit,  or  at  least  in  espial,  of  the  nocturnal 
rambler.  Now,  it  so  happened  that  the  Abb6  De- 
spard,  although  not  in  love,  was  as  wakeful  and  as  dis- 


CAIN  AND  ABEL.  35 

turbed  in  mind  as  the  governess ;  for  not  only  did  the 
note  of  preparation  and  change  in  the  chateau  fore- 
bode the  breaking-up  of  a  happy  home  to  him,  with 
the  return  to  laborious  and  subservient  duty  in  the 
cathedral  at  Marseilles ;  but  his  conscience,  a  good, 
-  trong,  serviceable  young  conscience,  troubled  him  with 
suggestions  that  the  hatred,  the  despair,  and  the  jeal- 
ousy he  had  read  during  the  last  few  hours  upon  the 
face  of  his  pupil  were,  in  good  measure,  referable  to 
the  perfect  freedom  in  which  the  young  man  had  ruled 
his  own  life,  and  pursued  the  love-affair  whose  inter- 
ruption now  threatened  such  disaster  to  all  concerned. 

"  I  have  been  a  false  steward,  an  unfaithful  guard- 
ian. Monsieur  le  Comte  has  every  right  to  send  me 
back  to  my  bishop  in  disgrace,  a  dishonored  priest ! 
I  have  been  weak,  timid,  cowardly :  I  have  allowed 
my  pupil  to  lead  me,  instead  of  I  him;  and  now — I 
know  his  temper ;  I  know  that  of  the  vicomte ;  and 
mademoiselle,  how  will  she  choose?" 

Half  muttering,  half  thinking  these,  and  a  thousand 
phrases  like  them,  the  chaplain  paced  up  and  down 
the  long  half-lighted  library,  whither  he  had  retreated 
from  the  frigid  and  insolent  companionship  of  his 
master,  and  his  master's  son ;  his  tall  figure  clad  in 
the  black  soutane,  now  vanishing  into  the  gloom  at 
either  end  of  the  gallery,  now  showing  spectrally  in  the 
vague  circle  of  light  shed  by  the  two  candles,  which, 
mounted  upon  quaint  twisted  branches  of  lacquered 
brass,  only  served  to  make  the  gloomy  hall  more 
gloomy  than  total  darkness.  At  one  end  of  the 
libr.uy  a  door  stood  ajar,  —  a  side-door,  giving  upon  a 


36  A   NAMELESJ  NOBLEMAK. 

small  lobby  whence  a  narrow  staircase  led  to  the  upper 
stories  of  the  chateau;  opposite  this  staircase  a  door 
led  to  the  terrace,  and  so  to  the  gardens ;  and  it  was 
by  this  quiet  staircase,  lobby,  and  portal,  that  Ma- 
demoiselle Salerne  had  chosen  to  set  forth  upon  her 
voyage  of  observation ;  and,  as  the  moment  of  ner 
arrival  at  the  foot  of  the  stair  was  also  the  moment  in 
which  the  chaplain  reached  the  end  of  the  library  next 
this  staircase,  it  fell  out  that  his  eyes,  accustomed 
to  the  darkness,  discerned  the  outline  of  a  slender 
female  figure  flitting  across  the  lobby,  and  out  at  the 
door,  and  his  ears  assured  him  that  the  light  footfall, 
and  gentle  rustle  of  garments,  were  not  those  of  old 
Marie,  or  Pauline  the  inferior  woman-servant. 

"  Mademoiselle  Valerie  !  Francois  has  persuaded 
her  to  meet  him  in  the  garden  !  What  imprudence  ! 
If  Monsieur  le  Comte  or  Monsieur  Gaston  hear  them  ! 
My  fault  again,  always  my  fault,  —  miserable  that  1 
am  !  I  should  have  foreseen,  I  should  have  pre- 
vented ! "  And  with  these  broken  exclamations,  prov- 
ing that  the  good  abbess  conscience  was  more  acute 
than  his  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  the  art  of  man- 
aging lovers,  he  threw  his  berretta  upon  his  head,  and 
left  the  house  by  the  same  path  as  the  governess.  But 
Adele,  light  of  foot  and  lithe  of  motion,  was  already 
far  down  the  garden  path  in  the  direction  she  had  seen 
Gaston  take ;  and,  in  fact,  pursued  him  so  closely,  that, 
as  he  passed  through  the  wicket  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  garden,  Adele,  hidden  in  a  great  clump  of  laurel 
could  almost  have  touched  him.  Not  daring  to  follow 
firther,  the  governess  slowly  retraced  her  steps  toward 


CAIN  AND  ABEL.  37 

the  house,  but  in  a  dark  alley  ran  almost  into  the  arms 
of  a  tall,  black-clad  figure,  who  first  seized  his  opponent 
mechanically,  but,  releasing  her  immediately,  bowed 
low  in  the  darkness,  murmuring  reproachfully,  — 

"  O  mademoiselle,  what  imprudence  !  " 

"  Imprudence,  father  !  "  exclaimed  a  hard  and  shrill 
voice,  differing  as  much  from  Valerie's  cooing  tones  as 
a  cat-bird's  from  a  linnet's :  "  I  only  ran  down  the 
garden  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  after  stitching  away  in 
my  own  room  all  the  evening.  What  imprudence, 
mon  pere  ?  " 

"  It  is  always  imprudent  to  take  the  night  air,  and 
you  need  your  rest  for  the  journey  to-morrow,"  replied 
the  abb£  composedly  as  he  passed  on,  leaving  the  per- 
plexed and  somewhat  indignant  governess  to  her  own 
meditations. 

"  Is  he  also  following  Monsieur  Gaston  ?  "  murmured 
she  :  "  he  never  would  dare  upbraid  him,  no  matter  in 
what  peccadillo  he  discovered  him  !  Can  it  be  that 
Monsieur  Francois  is  astray  to-night?  Is  Mademoi- 
selle Valerie  safely  housed?  Truly  this  is  a  night  of 
adventure,  a  night  of  interest,  a  night  such  as  does  not 
often  come  to  this  stupid  old  chateau  !  I  will  stay  out 
until  the  priest  and  Monsieur  Gaston  return :  they 
must  pass  this  way." 

Wrapping  herself  more  closely  in  her  mantle  as  she 
whispered  this  resolve,  Adele  accordingly  settled  her- 
self upon  a  well-shaded  garden-bench,  and  remained 
motionless;  quite  unconscious  that  the  pries.,  aftei 
passing  her  by  a  few  yards,  had  stopped,  and  I*  nt  his 
acute  ear  to  listen  for  her  return  into  the  house  Find 


38  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

ing  that  this  return  did  not  take  place,  he  crept  a  little 
nearer,  and  soon  distinguished  the  deeper  shadow 
against  the  green  of  the  ilex  behind  the  bench.  Again 
noiselessly  withdrawing,  the  abbe'  retreated  to  a  safe 
distance,  and,  sternly  staring  up  at  the  walls  of  the 
chateau,  seemed  to  question  them  of  their  secrets. 

"Mademoiselle  Salerae  is  posted  as  a  spy  there,  01 
as  a  vidette  to  watch  against  surprises  !  That  means 
that  her  mistress  is  out  here  with  Fra^ois  !  Shall  I 
return,  and  force  the  truth  from  her  by  my  authority  as 
her  confessor?  or  shall  I  wait  and  watch?  Ha  1  what 
is  that?" 

It  was  a  light  in  Valerie's  window :  it  was  Valerie 
herself  looking  down  into  the  garden.  Still  moving 
noiselessly  upon  the  soft  mould  of  the  garden-beds, 
the  abb£  crept  in  that  direction,  uncertain  even  yet  as 
to  the  course  proper  for  him  to  pursue ;  but  infinitely 
relieved  to  perceive  that  Mademoiselle  de  Rochenbois 
was  safe,  and  not  in  the  commission  of  imprudences 
for  which  he  might  feel  himself  more  or  less  account- 
able. 

Truth  to  tell,  Valerie  had  seldom  passed  so  mau- 
vais  un  quart  d'heure  as  after  reading  Francois'  note, 
nor  had  by  any  means  resolved  what  to  reply  to 
it,  when  the  town-clock  struck  twelve ;  and  she  felt, 
as  Godiva  did,  as  Cinderella  did,  that  the  moment  of 
meditation  was  past,  the  moment  of  action  had  ar- 
rived. But  what  action?  Godiva  was  governed  by 
a  grand  motive,  Cinderella  by  a  grand  passion  and  a 
fairy  godmother;  but  poor  little  Valerie  possessed 
neither  grand  motive,  nor  passion,  nor  godmother,  in 


CAIN  AND  ABEL.  39 

fact,  nothing  as  guide  but  a  very  pronounced  desire 
to  please,  first  herself,  then  Francois,  then  everybody ; 
and  no  amount  of  meditation  showed  her  how  all 
these  objects  were  to  be  combined.  To  be  sure,  the 
Snark  tells  us  of  a  mind  so  equably  divided  that  when 
it  would  call  upon  Richard  or  William,  it  could  decide 
upon  neither,  and  so  summoned  Rilchiam;  but  the 
Snark  was  not  composed  in  those  days,  and  it  is 
unkind  to  play  with  Valerie's  feelings  in  this  manner, 
so  let  us  resume  serious  history. 

The  clock  struck  twelve  :  a  handful  of  sand  thrown 
against  Valerie's  window  announced  a  visitor  below; 
and,  opening  the  casement,  the  young  lady  was  startled 
to  find  the  top  of  her  lover's  blonde  head  upon  a  level 
with  the  sill. 

"  Why,  how  came  you  there,  Francois  ?  "  exclaimed 
she. 

"  The  fruit-ladder.  I  was  afraid  they  would  hear  if 
we  spoke  aloud.  There  is  not  a  moment  to  spare,  for 
everybody  but  my  father  is  up  and  about.  I  went  to 
see  if  all  was  safe,  and  nearly  ran  over  your  governess. 
But  never  mind  all  that.  Tell  me,  Valerie,  tell  me 
like  a  brave  and  honest  girl,  tell  me  that  you  love  me 
as  I  love  you." 

"  Certainly,  I  love  you,  Francois  :  I  am  very  fond  of 
you ;  but "  — 

"But  what?    Speak  out,  Valerie,  be  honest." 

"  How  can  I  speak  out  when  I  don't  know  what  tc 
say?"  demanded  Valerie  pettishly.  Francois  uttered 
an  exclamation  as  of  physical  pain. 

"  O  Valerie  !    You  do  not  know  !    You  are  trifling 


40  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

with  me :  you  know  that  this  is  life  and  death  to  me, 
and  you  hesitate  and  toy  as  if  with  the  choice  of  a 
ribbon." 

"But  you  see,  Francois,"  retorted  the  young  girl 
with  vivacity,  "  if  it  is  life  or  death  to  you,  so  it  is  to 
me ;  and  I  can't  tell,  all  in  a  minute,  which  is  life  and 
which  is  death.  If  it  were  a  ribbon  it  wouldn't 
matter:  but  it's  the  court  and  the  king,  and  all  the 
gay,  beautiful  life  there,  with  Gaston,  whom  I  don't 
love ;  or  it's  this  stupid  old  chateau,  and  poverty,  and 
disgrace,  and  rust  and  mould,  with  you,  whom  I  am 
fond  of,  no  doubt,  and  yet"  — 

"And  yet  not  enough  fond  of  to  choose  instead 
of  the  court  and  the  king  and  Gaston,"  suggested 
Francois. 

"That's  the  very  question,"  replied  Valerie  naively. 
"  And  I'm  really  afraid,  that,  whichever  I  choose,  I  shall 
spend  all  the  rest  of  my  life  regretting  the  other." 

"Then  by  all  means,  mademoiselle,"  began  the 
baron  in  a  rage ;  but  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  and 
mocking  voice  from  below :  — 

"  What,  what !  A  robber  !  An  assassin  !  Thieves  t 
Murderers  !  An  attack  upon  the  chateau  ! " 

And  with  a  well-directed  kick  the  vicomte  drove 
the  fruit-ladder  from  its  position,  and  brought  it  with  its 
burden  to  the  ground.  Francois,  considerably  hurt  by 
the  fall,  but  a  good  deal  more  humiliated  than  hurt, 
jumped  up  with  a  furious  exclamation,  and,  seizing  his 
brother  by  the  throat,  bore  him  to  the  ground. 

"  Oh,  it  is  you,  you  wretched  animal ! "  gasped  the 
vicomte,— no  match  for  his  brawny  brother  in  any 


CAIN  AND  ABEL.  4! 

thing  but  courage,  of  which  he  had  plenty.  "  How 
dare  you  insult  my  affianced  wife?  Take  that,  then  !  " 

"  Ugh  !  "  growled  the  stricken  man,  smarting  from  a 
blow  across  the  eyes  nearly  blinding  him,  and  return- 
ing it  with  a  tremendous  thrust.  "  You  lie  !  She  is 
•ny  affianced  wife  !  " 

"Lie,  do  I?"  hissed  Gaston,  his  bad  blood  fully 
roused;  and  Cam  and  Abel  clutched  each  other  in 
mortal  fray.  A  moment,  and  the  slighter  form  toppled 
against  the  wall,  and  fell  a  crumpled  heap  at  its  foot ; 
while  the  other,  oppressed  with  the  sudden  horror  of 
completed  crime,  turned  and  fled  into  the  darkness 
and  the  night;  and  Valerie,  bending  low  from  her 
window,  wrung  her  hands,  and  shrieked  for  help,  moan- 
ing hi  her  poor  little  selfish  heart,  — 

"Francois  has  murdered  Gaston,  and  I  have  lost 
them  both." 


42  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN 


CHAPTER  VI. 

VALERIE'S  CHOICE. 

A  LITTLE  way  down  the  garden-path  Francois 
paused  in  his  headlong  flight,  stood  still,  and 
began  slowly  to  retrace  his  steps.  Having  yielded  to 
two  impulses  of  the  wild  beast  caged  in  most  men's 
natures,  Fight  and  Flight,  he  now  submitted  to  the 
tardier  but  in  the  main  stronger  coercion  of  educa- 
tion, civilization,  or,  if  you  please,  honor,  the  legitimate 
child  of  education  and  civilization. 

Three  steps  of  retrogression,  and  the  young  man 
felt  his  arm  grasped  from  behind,  and  an  eager  voice 
demanded,  — 

"  What  is  it,  Monsieur  le  Baron  ?  You  have  fought 
with  your  brother?  You  have  killed  him?  Is  he 
dead?" 

"We  fought?  Idonotfcnow.  God  forbid  !  lam 
going  to  see.  Come,  man  pere." 

"  Come  !  Go,  I  should  rather  say.  Fly  while  there 
is  time.  The  house  will  be  roused  in  a  moment :  the 
governess  is  flying  along  the  terrace  already,  shrieking 
like  a  sea-gull,  and  Mademoiselle  Valerie"  — 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  abW  ?  Fly  !  Escape  ! 
What  words  are  these  for  a  gentleman  to  hear?  If  I 
have  by  sore  mischance  killed  my  brother,  I  will  abide 


VALERIE'S  CHOTC.F  43 

the  consequences  of  my  deed.  God  knows  I  never 
meant  more  than  an  angry  blow." 

"Then  no  justice  of  God  or  man  demands  your 
life  as  forfeit ;  and  yet  the  count  in  his  first  anger  — 
At  any  rate,  wait  here  for  a  moment  or  two,  until  I 
discover  the  real  state  of  the  case.  If  the  vicomte  is 
not  dead,  you  ought  all  the  more  to  keep  out  of  your 
father's  sight  for  a  day  or  two.  Will  you  wait  here 
five  minutes  until  I  go  up  there  and  make  a  report? " 

"Well,  yes,  I  will  wait  five  minutes  here ;  not,  mind 
you,  that  I  fear  my  father's  wrath,  but  that  I  will  not 
intrude  upon  the  grief  of  Mademoiselle  de  Rochen- 
bois,  whom  even  from  this  distance  I  can  hear  calling 
so  piteously  upon  her  Gaston." 

The  abb6  had  not  paused  for  more  than  the  first 
clause  of  this  reply,  but  was  already  springing  up  the 
steps  to  the  terrace,  where  all  the  inhabitants  of  the 
chateau  were  now  assembled ;  and  presently  Francois, 
himself  invisible  beneath  the  dense  shadows  of  the 
garden,  perceived  that  his  father,  the  abbe,  and  two 
men-servants  were  lifting,  and  heavily  carrying  in  at 
the  open  doors,  a  something  —  what  was  it  ?  —  a 
corpse,  or  a  wounded  man?  Was  he,  standing  there 
in  *hat  fragrant  garden,  where  so  few  hours  before  he 
had  sported  like  a  child  with  his  cousin,  —  was  he  a 
murderer?  His  brother's  blood  was  on  his  hand 
indeed,  but  was  it  life-blood  ? 

And  the  young  baron,  asking  himself  this  question, 
facing  this  possibility,  made  in  those  five  minutes  one 
of  those  strides  in  life  which  eventless  years  may  not 
measure,  as  the  Alpine  adventurer,  losing  his  hold 


44  ^   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

upon  the  ice,  whirls  in  a  moment  down  the  steep  de- 
scent whereon  by  choice  he  had  painfully  crept  for 
hours.  Perhaps  he  survives,  perhaps  he  does  not ; 
but,  at  the  best,  such  plunges  leave  some  aches  and 
scratches  behind. 

"  Will  he  never  come  ? "  exclaimed  Francois,  and 
on  the  instant  heard  the  soutane  of  the  priest  brush- 
ing along  the  rose-hedged  walk. 
"Well,  monpere!" 

"Well,  my  son  !  He  is  not  dead,  and  may  not  be 
mortally  hurt:  they  cannot  yet  tell.  But  Mademoi- 
selle Salerne  accuses  you  of  the  murder,  as  she  calls  it ; 
and  your  father  is  in  a  white  rage  because  the  king 
will  be  displeased  at  him.  He  has  sent  one  man  into 
Marseilles  for  a  surgeon,  another  for  the  police  to 
arrest  you.  He  speaks,  too,  of  his  seigneurial  rights, 
and  of  cutting  off  the  hand  which  has  shed  the  blood 
of  an  elder  brother.  If  he  finds  you  to-night  he  will 
do  some  mad  thing,  not  to  be  remedied  to-morrow. 
Vou  must  hide  for  a  day  or  so  at  least." 

Francois  made  a  haughty  gesture  of  dissent,  and 
twisted  his  arm  from  the  hold  of  the  priest,  who  re- 
luctantly  produced  his  last  argument,  — 
"  Mademoiselle  Valerie  wishes  it." 
"Wishes  me  to  fly?" 

"  Yes.  She  gave  me  this  note,  and  whispered,  '  Foi 
God's  sake  bid  him  keep  out  of  the  way  ! '  " 

"A  note!  How  shall  I  read  it ?  All  depends  upon 
what  she  says.  Man  pere,  have  you  some  of  that 
magical  stuff  you  were  showing  me  this  morning,  that 
which  makes  light  in  the  dark?  Can  you  make  light 
for  me  now?" 


VALERIE'S  CHOICE.  45 

"  Yes :  come  into  the  garden-house."  And  the 
abbe1,  smiling  a  little  to  himself  at  seeing  the  depend- 
ence of  the  pupil  suddenly  overtopping  the  self- 
assertion  of  the  young  noble,  led  the  way  into  the 
tool-hcuse,  and  produced  from  his  pocket  a  phial  of 
phosphorus,  in  those  days  as  valuable  an  adjunct  of 
wonder-work  as  in  our  time  are  cabinets  with  sliding- 
doors,  wires,  magnets,  darkened  rooms,  and  boundless 
credulity. 

Dipping  a  splint  of  prepared  wood  in  this  phial, 
the  abb£  procured  a  light,  at  which  Frangois  glanced 
rather  apprehensively,  but  soon  forgot  in  reading  these 
few  words,  very  badly  written  upon  a  crumpled  bit  of 
paper : — 

"  Gaston  is  not  dead,  and  I  am  sure  I  hope  he  will  not  die  ; 
but  until  one  knows,  you  must  not  be  seen  here.  Hide  your 
self ;  efface  yourself  thoroughly.  The  abbe  may  tell  me  where. 
For  my  sake,  Francois.  VALERIE." 

It  was  not  very  loving,  it  was  not  very  definite  :  but 
it  ended  with  "  for  my  sake,"  and  surely  Valerie  would 
never  so  enforce  her  behest  unless  she  meant  more 
than  met  the  eye ;  and  if,  being  his,  she  desired  him 
to  save  himself  for  her  sake  —  So  far  did  Frangois 
untangle  the  maze  of  his  emotions,  and  then,  turning 
to  the  impatient  priest,  said  with  a  sigh,  — 

"Well  then,  mon  pere,  I  will  depart  for  a  while: 
but  whither?  To  my  estates  in  Normandy?" 

"The  messengers  of  Monsieur  le  Comte  would  ar- 
rive there  as  soon  as  yourself,  mon  baron,"  replied  th« 
tutor,  in  a  tone  of  more  authority  as  he  felt  himself 


46  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

becoming  master  of  the  occasion.  "  No :  you  shaB 
come  with  me  to  Marseilles ;  and  I  will  show  you  a 
very  poor  but  a  very  safe  refuge,  where  you  may  lie 
securely  hid  until  your  brother's  fate  is  disclosed. 
Then  we  shall  see." 

"  As  well  there  as  anywhere,  if  I  must  indeed  hide." 

"  Let  us  set  out  at  once,  and  on  foot,  since  to  bring 
horses  from  the  stable  would  declare  our  intention." 

"Very  well."  And  Francois,  absorbed  in  thought, 
set  forth  at  so  round  a  pace  that  the  priest,  less  used 
to  physical  exertion,  although  well  fitted  for  it,  was 
more  than  once  obliged  to  beg  for  consideration. 

Two  hours  later  the  young  men  halted  in  a  quiet 
street  of  Marseilles,  before  a  small  house  largely  de- 
voted to  a  grocer's  shop,  bearing  upon  the  door-posts 
the  name  of  Jacques  Despard. 

"  It  is  my  father's  house  and  shop,  monsieur,"  said 
the  abbe  with  quiet  dignity,  and  led  the  way  up  a 
staircase  built  on  the  outside  at  the  end,  as  was  the 
fashion  of  that  day,  unlocked  a  door  upon  the  land- 
ing, looked  in,  beckoned  the  baron  to  follow,  and, 
unlocking  a  second  door,  ushered  him  into  a  small 
bedroom,  sparsely  but  neatly  furnished,  and  very  tidy. 

"  There,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  the  abbe",  closing 
the  door,  and  drawing  a  long  breath,  "  here  you  are 
safe,  and  welcome  for  as  long  as  you  choose  to  stay. 
This  is  my  own  room,  always  kept  ready  for  my  arrival 
by  day  or  night,  and  never  entered  by  any  member  of 
the  household  save  my  sister,  who  loves  to  keep  it  in 
order  because  she  loves  me.  I  will  go  now,  and  tell 
her  that  I  have  here  a  guest  who  desires  to  remain  in 


VALERIE'S  CHOICE.  4; 

secret ;  and  she  will  attend  you  without  curiosity  and 
without  stupidity.  Then  I  must  hasten  back  to  the 
chateau  before  the  family  are  about,  lest  my  absence 
should  suggest  your  place  of  retreat." 

He  left  the  room,  and  presently  returned  with  a 
brisk,  brown  little  maiden,  whom  he  presented  as,  — 

"  My  sister  Clotilde,  monsieur,  and  your  hostess." 

Francois  bowed  gravely  and  courteously ;  and  Clo> 
tilde  dropped  a  respectful  courtesy,  saying  shyly,  yet 
eagerly,— 

"  Monsieur  is  very  welcome ;  and  I  have  already 
told  the  abb6  how  discreet  and  how  attentive  I  will 
try  to  be  to  his  friend.  Monsieur  will  excuse  the  poor 
place,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  am  most  grateful  for  its  shelter,  mademoiselle, 
and  only  sorry  to  make  you  trouble,"  replied  Francois 
in  his  grand,  grave  fashion ;  and  Clotilde,  dropping 
another  courtesy,  followed  her  brother  from  the  room, 
saying,  — 

"As  soon  as  old  Nannette  has  gone  to  mass,  and 
my  father  and  Henri  are  in  the  shop,  I  will  bring 
monsieur  some  breakfast." 

"Any  time,  any  thing,"  replied  Frangois  wearily; 
and,  as  the  door  closed,  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair, 
and  laid  his  head  upon  his  folded  arms  on  the  table. 
After  all,  he  was  only  a  boy. 

That  evening  with  his  supper  Clotilde  brought  her 
prisoner  a  note  which  she  handed  to  him  saying,  — 

"  It  is  a  billet,  monsieur,  which  I  found  in  a  parcel 
of  linen  sent  me  by  my  brother  the  abb£  ;  and  I  think 
it  must  be  for  you,  since  Vincent  knows  I  do  not  read 
writing,  although  I  can  make  out  print  very  well." 


48  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  It  is  for  me,  mademoiselle,"  said  Francois  eagerly } 
and  Clotilde  left  the  room  murmuring,  — 

"He  calls  me  mademoiselle,  which  is  very  nice; 
but  he  is  as  solemn  as  if  we  assisted  at  his  father's 
funeral." 

The  abbess  note  ran  thus :  — 

"  MONSIEUR  MY  HONORED  PUPIL,  —  I  have  the  pleasure 
of  announcing  that  the  Vicomte  de  Montarnaud  is  not  so 
dangerously  wounded  as  was  at  first  feared,  and  bids  fair  to 
recover  under  the  careful  tendance  of  Mademoiselle  Valerie, 
her  governess,  and  old  Marie,  all  of  whom  are  constant  at  his 
bedside.  But  I  cannot  advise  you  to  return  hither  at  present ; 
for  the  comte  is  far  more  enraged  at  the  delay  in  presenting 
himself,  with  his  son  and  Mademoiselle  de  Rochenbois,  before 
the  king,  than  at  the  danger  to  his  son's  life ;  and  would,  could 
he  lay  hands  upon  you,  make  you  suffer  severely  for  his  annoy- 
ance, and  possible  disgrace  at  court. 

"  Nor  have  I  any  better  news  to  give  you  of  Mademoiselle 
Valerie,  who  seems  in  a  state  of  mingled  grief  and  irritability 
very  difficult  to  encounter.  I  ventured  to  ask  this  morning  if 
she  had  a  message  for  you ;  and  she  only  replied, '  Bid  him  keep 
out  of  the  way,  if  he  wishes  to  please  me ; '  and  when  I  again 
asked  if  she  would  not  write  a  line  to  comfort  you  in  your 
exile,  she  sharply  inquired,  since  when  priests  had  made  it  their 
duty  to  act  as  go-betweens  for  lovers  ?  The  question  touched 
me  sharply,  monsieur,  and  I  turned  away  without  reply. 

"  In  conclusion,  I  can  only  recommend  you  on  all  accounts, 
-your  own,  Monsieur  le  Comte's,  Mademoiselle  Valerie's,  and 
even  my  own,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  mention  it,  — to  remain 
strictly  hidden,  at  least  until  I  come  to  you,  which  will  be  in 
two  or  three  days  at  latest,  I  send  you  a  packet  containing 
some  clothes,  your  dressing-case,  your  own  table-service,  and 
some  books,  among  them  the  Satires  of  Horace  which  we 
were  lately  reading,  and  which  you  may  find  congenial  to  your 
present  mood;  also  the  'Imitation  of  Christ,'  a  work  more 


VALERIE'S  CHOICE.  49 

edifying  in  its  spirit  than  the  first,  but  not  nearly  so  good 
Latin. 

"  Until  our  meeting  I  remain 

"  Your  faithful  tutor  and  servant, 

"VINCENT  DE  PAUL  DESPARD." 

The  third  evening  after  this,  just  as  Francois,  who 
had  read  a  good  deal  of  Horace  and  a  little  of  Thom- 
as 3  Kempis,  had  counted  all  the  stones  of  the  dead 
wall  opposite  his  window,  and  made  some  progress  in 
taming  the  sparrows,  which  he  fed  with  crumbs  on  his 
window-sill,  was  putting  on  his  plumed  hat  with  the 
intention  of  sallying  forth  to  meet  his  tutor  upon  the 
road,  or,  failing  this,  to  push  on  to  the  chateau,  and 
end  this  miserable  suspense,  —  the  door  was  hurriedly 
opened,  and  P£re  Vincent  entered  with  a  face  so  full 
of  ill  news,  that  the  young  baron  exclaimed,  — 

"  My  brother  is  worse,  —  is  dead  !  " 

"  No  monsieur,  but "  — 

"  Valerie  is  betrothed  to  \  jn  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  monsiev  r,  but  — 

"  Has  not  she  written  to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  but "  — 

"  Give  it  me,  please,  then,  and  in  pity  do  not  say 
*  but '  again  to-night." 

"  But,  Monsieur  le  Baron  "  — 

"  But,  mon  pere  !  " 

And  half  petulant,  half  laughing,  Francois  snatched 
the  letter  from  the  abbe~'s  tardy  fingers,  and,  tearing  it 
open,  hastily  read,  — 

•'  I  have  not  written  to  you  before,  Fran9ois,  because  I  knew 
D(  t  what  to  say,  and  also  because  I  was  busy  in  attending  Gas 


5O  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

ton,  whom  you  hurt  very  much :  and  it  is  a  horrible  thing  for  a 
brother  to  try  to  kill  his  brother,  especially  the  younger  the  elder ; 
for,  as  my  guardian  says,  some  persons  might  say  you  wished 
to  secure  the  title  and  estates  of  Montarnaud  in  addition  to 
your  own.  And  it  was  all  a  mistake  too ;  for  Gaston  was  wan- 
dering in  the  garden,  to  look  at  the  light  in  my  window,  and 
vexing  himself  with  fears  that  I  should  not  accept  his  suit,  and 
really  took  you  for  a  robber.  He  is  much  better  now,  so  much 
that  to-morrow,  or  even  to-night  if  possible,  we  are  to  set  out 
for  Paris,  carrying  him  in  a  litter,  and  travelling  by  easy  stages  ; 
for  my  guardian  will  no  longer  delay  obeying  the  king's  com- 
mand, and  says  he  would  risk  the  lives  of  all  belonging  to  him, 
and  after  all  the  rest  his  own,  rather  than  further  tempt  the 
royal  displeasure. 

"  Ah,  Fra^ois  I  my  heart  is  not  in  what  I  have  written,  and 
you  will  again  call  me  frivolous  and  heartless,  —  I  know  you 
will ;  but,  dear,  what  can  I  do  ?  My  uncle  would  take  me  by 
main  force  if  I  resisted ;  he  would  kill  me  sooner  than  seem  to 
disobey  the  king ;  and  I,  —  well,  then,  I  will  be  brave,  at  least, 
and  say  the  truth,  —  I  want  to  go.  I  do  not  love  Gaston,  —  I 
do  not  love,  not  really  love,  anybody ;  but  I  must  see  Ver- 
sailles ;  I  must  breathe  the  air  of  the  court ;  I  must  wave  my 
wings  like  those  great  painted  butterflies  of  our  fair  garden,  in 
the  perfumed  sunshine  of  the  royal  presence.  I  shall  be  sorry, 
I  know  it  already,  but  —  I  go  I  " 

There  was  more  of  it;  but  at  this  last  word  the 
lover,  muttering  a  black  and  bitter  malediction,  rent 
the  sheet  into  twenty  fragments,  crushed  them  in  his 
hand,  and,  flinging  them  upon  the  hearth,  turned  a 
ghastly  face  upon  his  tutor,  saying, — 

"So  it  is  decided.  She  has  gone  with  him  to 
Paris  ! " 

"Monsieur  le  Comte,  v.th  Mademoiselle  de  Ro- 
chenbois  her  attendants  and  Monsieur  Gaston,  left 


VALERIE'S  CHOICE.  $!' 

the  chateau  about  an  hour  before  I  did,"  said  the 
abb£  gently,  for  the  pain  upon  his  pupil's  white  face 
stirred  his  very  heart. 

"  Will  you  kindly  leave  me  alone,  mon  pere,  for  hall 
an  hour  or  so  ?  Or,  no,  I  will  walk  for  a  while.  There 
is  now  no  motive  for  concealment.  In  half  an  hour  I 
will  return." 

"God  be  with  you,  my  son,  and  give  you  strength  !  " 

"  Amen,  my  father." 

HaH"  an  hour  later  the  baron,  returning  to  his  little 
room,  found  an  inviting  supper  spread,  and  the  abb£ 
cheerfully  superintending  Clotilde's  last  arrangements. 

"Come,  my  son  !  "  exclaimed  he  as  the  young  girl 
withdrew.  "  Let  us  first  of  all  eat ;  since  Clotilde  tells 
me  you  sent  away  your  dinner  untasted,  and  I  have 
taken  nothing  since  morning." 

"As  you  will,  mon  pere"  replied  Francois  carelessly ; 
but  even  so  the  priest  noted  that  the  voice  had  a  stur- 
dier ring  and  a  more  manly  tone  than  he  yet  had  heard 
hi  it,  and  was  further  rejoiced  by  seeing  his  pupil  par- 
take of  Clotilde's  delicacies,  not  with  any  great  enjoy- 
ment certainly,  but  with  the  honest  appetite  of  a 
healthy  young  fellow  of  one  and  twenty. 

"And  now,  mon  abbe"  began  the  baron,  pushing 
back  his  chair,  "  I  have  to  bid  you  good-by,  with 
inany  thanks  for  your  kind  hospitality  here,  and  your 
greater  kindness  in  the  days  past,  —  the  days  of  my 
youth  as  they  already  seem,  for  the  life  of  Montarnaud 
is  past." 

"And  whither  go  you  now,  Monsieur  le  Baron? 
What  are  your  plans,  if  I  may  ask  ?  "  inauired 


52  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

somewhat  incredulously ;  for  truly  the  transition  from  a 
runaway  schoolboy  to  a  self-reliant  young  noble  was  a 
little  sharp,  a  little  incredible.  But  Francois,  proving 
his  new  manhood  by  failing  to  resent  the  other's  un- 
belief in  it,  quietly  answered,  — 

"  I  hardly  know,  except  that  I  go  to-morrow  into 
Normandy,  to  sell  my  possessions  there  to  this  rich 
contractor  who  wishes  so  much  to  become  a  proprie- 
tor. My  one  and  twentieth  birthday  is  past  since 
resterday." 

"You  will  sell" — began  the  abbe  aghast.  But 
Franfois  interrupted  him  :  "  Do  not  let  us  argue,  mon 
pere"  said  he  quietly,  but  with  the  air  of  the  grand 
seigneur  which  had  so  lately  come  upon  him.  "  I  have 
no  longer  a  country,  a  home,  or  a  name.  The  king  of 
France  has  stolen  my  father's  honor  and  my  fiancee's 
faith.  He  shall  not  rank  me  among  his  subjects,  lest 
I,  too,  become  a  traitor  and  a  coward.  I  renounce  all 
that  makes  me  a  Frenchman;  and,  so  soon  as  this 
business  is  concluded,  I  leave  the  country  of  Louis 
XIV.,  of  Raoul  de  Montarnaud,  of  Gaston  his  son, 
and  of  Valerie  de  Rochenbois,  —  never,  so  help  me 
God  !  to  set  foot  upon  its  soil  again." 

"  And  where  will  you  go  ?  and  how  will  you  live  ?  " 
asked  the  abb£,  a  tinge  of  excitement  rising  to  his 
sallow  cheek,  and  kindling  his  fervent  eyes. 

"  I  have  hardly  considered  as  yet,"  replied  his  pupil. 
"There  is  good  fighting  to  be  had  in  the  Netherlands 
and  I  am  not  an  ill  swordsman." 

"  I  have  a  thought !  You  were  lamenting  that  birth 
and  fortune  prevented  your  pursuing  your  surgical  and 


VALERIE'S  CHOICE.  53 

anatomical  studies.  The  army  hospitals  are  rough  but 
rapid  schools ;  and  to  save  life,  and  ameliorate  human 
suffering,  is  a  nobler  and  a  rarer  art  than  slaughter. 
Then,  too,  I  might  find  work  as  chaplain." 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  his  fair  face 
flushing  eagerly.  "  You  will  go  with  me  !  You,  too, 
will  expatriate  yourself,  and  for  my  sake,  man  pere  ! 
I  wished  it  so  much,  but  would  not  ask  it  for  fear  I 
should  seem  to  claim  pity  and  help." 

"  Pride,  my  son,"  quietly  suggested  the  abb6 ;  and 
then,  the  young  man's  nature  suddenly  overtopping 
the  priest's,  he  grasped  Fran?ois  by  the  hand,  cry- 
ing,— 

"Courage,  mon  ami!  we  will  go  out  together  to 
conquer  the  world,  and  win  for  ourselves  the  place 
she  does  not  wish  to  grant  us.  The  sword  of  the 
Lord  and  of  Gideon  shall  prevail  over  more  formid- 
able enemies  than  yet  have  assailed  us.  Va!  " 


54  ^  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MOLLY. 

QUEEN  ELIZABETH,  of  various  memory,  com- 
manded her  portrait  to  be  painted  without 
shadow ;  and  the  idea  was  so  little  wise  that  we  may 
fairly  conclude  it  to  have  been  all  her  own,  and  that 
Burleigh  and  the  rest  of  the  councillors  who  made 
the  greatness  and  the  goodness  of  the  maiden  queen 
(probably  wife  of  Essex)  thought  this  one  of  the 
occasions  when  their  royal  charge  might  be  left  to 
her  own  guidance,  without  danger  to  any  one  but 
herself. 

And  why  was  it  so  absurd  an  idea?  Simply  because 
it  ignored  one  of  the  primal  laws  of  creation,  the  law 
of  contrasts.  Why  is  coming  day  so  lovely?  Because 
it  is  so  strong  a  contrast  to  the  darkness,  colorlessness, 
repose,  of  night.  Why  is  night  so  lovely  when  its 
soft  and  perfumed  darkness  falls  between  us  and  the 
world  which  has  wearied  us  all  day  ?  Because  of  the 
contrast  to  that  day  we  welcomed  so  blithely,  and 
shall  again  welcome  on  the  morrow. 

Why  did  the  God  of  beauty  make  the  skies  and  sea 
blue,  the  forests  green,  the  birds,  the  flowers,  the  rain- 
bow, the  gems  and  minerals,  of  every  tint  into  which 
light  may  be  divided,  if  not  to  teach  us  the  refresh- 


MOLLY.  55 

ment  and  delight  of  contrast?  So  Elizabeth  was,  after 
all,  a  more  pretentious  autocrat  than  her  father.  He 
only  aspired  to  reform  and  rule  the  Church :  she 
would  have  reformed  and  governed  creation. 

In  another  reign  Madame  de  Pompadour  held 
power  for  twenty  years.  How?  By  studying  and 
utilizing  the  science  of  contrasts.  The  chief  me- 
morial she  has  left  upon  earth  is  that  combination 
of  sky-blue  and  carnation-pink  still  known  by  her 
name,  —  that  soft  and  vivid  contrast  adapted  from 
Nature's  azure  eyes  and  softly  tinted  cheeks ;  and  one 
can  hardly  help  weeping  to-day  over  the  memoirs  of 
the  poor  wretch  as  one  reads  of  her  piteous  efforts  to 
maintain  her  bad  eminence,  exerting  herself  day  by 
day  to  hold  the  sated  voluptuary,  at  once  her  slave 
and  her  master,  by  ever  freshly  linked  chains,  largely 
forged  at  the  anvil  of  contrast.  To-day  she  moved 
before  him  in  all  the  grandeur  of  jewels,  cloth  of  gold, 
lace,  embroidery,  all  that  composed  the  grande  toilette 
of  that  age ;  to-morrow  she  was  the  artless  peasant- 
inaid,  with  her  snow-white  linen,  scarlet  bodice,  and 
brief  kirtle,  showing  the  pretty  feet  and  ankles  in  their 
gay  hose  and  shoon ;  now  she  swam  in  the  postures 
of  an  Eastern  dance,  clad  in  the  gold-shot  tissues,  the 
transparent  veil,  and  tinkling  ornaments,  of  a  baya- 
dere ;  and  again  she  drooped  meekly  before  her  lord 
in  the  costume  of  a  nun,  coiffed  and  wimpled,  her 
bold  eyes  modestly  down-dropt,  her  white  unjewelled 
fingers  clasping  a  rosary. 

Ah,  poor  wretch,  indeed  !  How  she  must  have 
longed  at  times  to  dare  to  be  herself,  to  be  gloomy  01 


56  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

angry,  or  tearful  or  silent,  as  the  mood  seized  her,  —  to 
know  the  liberty  of  Jeanne  Poisson  once  more.  And, 
after  all,  she  was  a  Catholic,  and  must  at  least  have 
been  taught  the  superstitions  of  her  faith :  she  must 
by  times  have  thought  of  death  and  judgment  and 
hell ;  she  was  not  "  advanced  "  enough  to  doubt  the 
existence  of  both  God  and  the  Devil  as  real  persons, 
and  suppose  the  thought  of  them  took  possession  of 
her  imagination  while  the  king  waited  to  see  her  in 
the  bayadere  dress.  Well,  she  reigned  by  the  power 
of  contrasts,  and  achieved  her  last  coup  of  this  sort 
when  she  was  carried  from  her  lodgings  in  the  royal 
palace,  from  her  pink  and  blue,  her  jewels,  her  cos- 
tumes, her  magnificence,  to  the  sordid  hearse,  quite 
good  enough  to-day  for  her  whose  word  a  few  months 
earlier  could  shake  the  world ;  and  Louis  XV.,  stand- 
ing at  his  window  to  watch  the  wretched  funeral  and 
the  dismal,  rainy  November  day,  took  snuff,  and 
laughed,  and  said, — 

"The  marquise  has  rather  poor  weather  for  her 
journey." 

Is  the  digression  a  trifle  long?  Pardon  it ;  for  it  is 
to  make  you  in  love  with  contrast,  and  to  lead  you 
from  Versailles,  with  its  Montespans  and  Pompadours, 
and  the  rose-garden  of  Provence,  with  Valerie,  sum- 
moned by  a  king  to  grace  his  court,  to  a  desolate 
winter  sea-coast,  its  sparse  vegetation  cut  down  by 
unremitting  frosts,  its  few  and  scattered  dwellings 
cowering  before  the  winds  that  contemptuously  hurl 
handfuls  of  sand  in  their  blinking  eyes,  or  tear  the 
thatch  from  their  roofs  like  hair  from  a  dishonored 


MOLLY.  57 

head;  or,  growing  more  furious  than  contempt  ious, 
shake  the  whole  sturdy  frame  until  it  rocks  upon  its 
foundations,  yet  meekly  holds  its  own  at  last,  as  the 
Wat  Tylers  generally  do. 

It  is  with  one  of  these  houses  that  we  have  to  do,  — 
a  low  but  comfortably  large  farmhouse,  set  down  in 
the  sand  with  a  sort  of  apologetic  uncertainty,  as  if 
it  hesitated  to  turn  its  back,  either  upon  the  faint 
wheel-track  denoting  a  highway,  or  upon  the  sea  sul- 
lenly sliding  up  a  shallow  beach  about  a  hundred 
rods  away.  The  wheel-track  meant  agriculture  and 
commerce,  the  sea  stood  for  fisheries  and  driftwood ; 
and  the  question  evidently  vexing  the  mind  of  the 
undecided  house  was,  whether  Humphrey  Wilder,  its 
master  and  owner,  was  a  farmer  or  fisherman,  and  so 
had  most  need  to  conciliate  land  or  sea.  The  house 
never  found  out,  nor  shall  we ;  so  let  it  pass.  As  for 
the  man,  see  him  as  he  stands  beside  the  stout  gray 
horse  harnessed  to  the  farm-wagon,  wherein  he  has 
already  bestowed  sundry  bales  and  boxes  suggestive 
of  provender  for  man  and  beast,  and  an  abundance 
of  wraps,  fit  for  an  arctic  exploration  at  the  least. 
Perhaps  Wilder  wishes  it  were  arctic,  rather  than  as 
hot  as  he  is  like  to  find  the  end  of  his  journey :  for  he  is 
bound  with  Deborah,  his  wife,  to  the  quarterly  meet- 
ing of  Friends  at  New  Bedford ;  and  Deborah,  like  her 
who  dwelt  beneath  her  palm-tree  near  Ramah,  was  a 
prophetess,  and  ruled  in  Israel,  yet  never  had  been 
able  to  so  rule  the  quiet  spirit  of  her  husband  as  to 
induce  him  to  join  the  society  wherein  she  was  a 
powerful  and  favorite  speaker  ind  guide.  This  was  a 


58  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

great  grief,  also  a  great  surprise  and  discomfiture,  to 
Deborah,  who  had  married  in  calm  opposition  to  all 
her  relatives  and  fellow-religionists,  because  she  ad- 
mired Humphrey's  stalwart  form  and  honest  English 
face  and  manly  ways,  and  fully  expected  to  add  to 
these  natural  graces  all  those  spiritual  ones  in  which 
she  so  abundantly  rejoiced.  But,  greatly  to  her  aston- 
ishment, the  good-tempered,  placid  fellow,  so  ready  to 
yield  to  her  in  most  matters,  so  impossible  to  quarrel 
with,  although  not  hard  to  wound,  developed  in  some 
few  directions  a  will  as  immovable,  as  silent,  and  as 
positive  as  the  Peak  o'  Derby,  in  whose  shadow  it  had 
its  early  growth.  One  of  these  directions  was  reli- 
gious :  Humphrey  did  not  especially  cling  to  the 
Church  of  England,  wherein  he  had  been  bred,  but 
he  distinctly  refused  to  belong  to  any  other ;  and  the 
only  offensive  weapon  he  ever  used,  in  the  discussions 
he  could  not  always  avoid  vith  Deborah,  was  the  Book 
of  Common  Prayer,  which  he  sometimes  brought  out, 
and  read  aloud  wherever  it  happened  to  open,  in  a 
sonorous  voice,  around  and  through  whose  diapason 
the  wife's  shrill  and  thin  tones  harmlessly  wandered, 
like  the  twitter  of  sparrows  around  the  organ  of  a 
cathedral. 

Fancy,  if  you  please,  Deborah  of  Ramah's  emotions 
if  Lapidoth  had  declined  all  sympathy  with  Barak, 
and  had  quite  refused  to  admire  Jael,  or  to  listen  to 
his  wife's  song  of  triumph  I 

Another  blank  wall  agiinst  which  Dame  Wilder 
presently  ran  her  head  was  her  husband's  determina- 
tion that  Molly,  the  first  and  only  child,  should  be 


MOLLY.  59 

christened  in  the  parish  church  where  her  forbears  had 
been  for  centuries  before  she  was  born,  and  should  be 
educated  as  they  had  been  in  catechism  and  church- 
service. 

Deborah  submitted  simply  because  she  couldn't  help 
it:  but  she  wrung  from  the  conqueror  a  reluctant 
consent  to  join  a  party  of  emigrants  about  leaving 
Old  England  for  New;  for,  as  she  pathetically  re- 
marked, — 

"  She  could  better  bear  her  disgrace  in  the  wilder- 
ness than  among  her  own  folk." 

"If  it's  disgrace  to  wed  an  honest  man,  that's 
stanch  to  State  and  Church,  and  will  have  his  child  so 
trained,  why  didst  do  it,  dame?"  asked  Humphrey 
calmly ;  and  Deborah  found  no  reply  but  tears,  and  a 
renewed  petition  to  join  the  emigrants,  to  which  her 
husband  finally  consented ;  pleasing  himself  in  select- 
ing a  site  for  his  new  dwelling  so  far  from  any  gather- 
ing place  of  Friends  that  it  was  only  on  stated  occasions, 
like  the  quarterly-meetings,  that  Deborah  could  find 
an  audience  for  the  grief  and  shame  she  never  failed 
to  put  in  evidence  before  she  finished  speaking,  how- 
ever she  might  begin.  Wilder  invariably  attended 
these  occasions,  probably  because  his  British  pluck 
suggested  that  it  would  be  cowardly  to  shirk  any  thing 
so  disagreeable ;  but  Molly  always  remembered  how, 
as  she  sat  one  Sunday  afternoon  on  her  father's  knee, 
and  looked  with  him  at  the  ghastly  prints  in  "  Fox's 
Book  of  Martyrs,"  he  muttered  over  one  of  them,  — 

"  Maybe  that  chap  didn't  witness  for  his  faith  any 
stronger  in  his  half-hour  with  the  lions,  than  another 
may  do  in  a  dozen  years  or  so  of  pin-pricks." 


6O  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Who  pricked  him,  father?  Show  me  the  picture," 
demanded  Molly ;  but,  putting  her  off  his  knee,  the 
father  answered  with  a  short  laugh,  — 

"  Never  mind,  my  little  maid ;  never  mind.  Come 
now,  say  thy  catechism  and  the  collect  for  this  day." 

And  so  they  came  to  America,  and  settled  near 
some  Old-World  neighbors  named  Hetherford,  hard  by 
the  village  of  Falmouth  at  the  beginning  of  Cape  Cod ; 
and  here,  nourished  by  the  salt  Atlantic  breeze,  and 
the  plenteous  freedom  of  out-door  life,  as  she  followed 
her  father  around  his  fields  or  out  in  his  fishing-boat, 
Molly  Wilder  grew  from  a  fragile,  lily-white  child  to  a 
stately  maiden,  inheriting  her  father's  finely-developed 
figure  and  fair  English  coloring,  deepened  in  the  eyes 
from  the  honest  blue  of  Wilder's  to  a  deep  grey,  suit- 
ing well  with  their  steadfast  and  earnest  expression, 
and  with  the  black  lashes  and  brows  which  nature  had 
capriciously  borrowed  from  the  mother's  dark  face  to 
bestow  upon  her  fair  daughter.  But  Molly's  mouth 
and  chin  were  all  her  own,  resembling  neither  the 
somewhat  rough-hewn  and  bovine  features  of  her 
father,  nor  the  thin-lipped  shrewish  mouth  and  pointed 
chin  of  her  mother ;  for  Molly's  chin  was  wide  and 
soft  and  creamy-white,  with  just  the  faintest  depression 
in  its  midst,  as  if  Love  had  been  about  to  set  a 
dimple  there,  but  had  been  frightened  away  by  the 
cold  purity  of  the  lips  above,  so  bright  of  tint,  so  ex- 
quisite of  moulding,  so  soft  and  sweet  in  their  rare 
smiles,  but  ordinarily  so  grave.  If  Valerie  de  Ro- 
chenbois'  mouth  was  made  for  kisses,  surely  Mary 
Wilder's  was  made  for  prayer ;  and  if  still  the  kisses 


MOLL  Y.  6 1 

came,  they  would  be  like  benedictions,  rather  than  the 
light  caresses  Valerie  so  freely  bestowed. 

One  of  the  minor  crosses  of  Deborah  Wilder's  life 
(and  she  lived,  so  to  speak,  in  a  forest  of  crosses  large 
and  small)  was  her  daughter's  hair.  It  was  so  abun- 
dant in  quantity,  so  bright  in  its  chestnut  tint,  so  wavy 
in  its  growth,  mutinously  breaking  into  little  burnished 
curls  on  the  temples,  and  in  the  nape  of  the  columnar 
neck,  especially  after  an  encounter  with  the  sweet 
strong  wind,  so  often  Molly's  playmate,  that  it  could 
neither  be  hidden  nor  disregarded ;  and  although  the 
girl  herself  seemed  to  take  no  especial  thought  of  it, 
beyond  brushing  it  smoothly  behind  her  ears,  and 
knotting  it  in  a  great  coil  at  the  back  of  her  head, 
whence  it  too  often  slipped,  and  fell  a  great  burnished 
serpent,  almost  to  her  heels,  Deborah  was  always 
worrying  lest  this  rare  abundance  and  rich  coloring 
should  prove  a  snare,  either  to  the  child  herself,  or 
some  admirer  yet  to  appear ;  and  more  than  once  she 
would  have  shorn  her  like  a  lamb,  but  that  Humphrey 
sternly  forbade;  and  at  last  Molly  took  the  matter 
into  her  own  hands,  and  quietly  met  her  mother's  last 
proposition  to  shorten  it,  with,  — 

"  Nay,  mother,  father  has  said  he  will  have  my  hair 
as  it  is,  and  I  shall  never  touch  scissors  to  it  again." 

"Thee  has  thy  father's  own  stubborn  temper," 
replied  Deborah  angrily ;  but  there  the  matter  rested. 

The  wagon  was  ready  and  waiting ;  and  Humphrey, 
stamping  his  feet,  and  drawing  the  muffler  tight  around 
his  neck,  looked  dubiously  toward  the  sea,  which 
tossed  and  moaned  restlessly  beneath  a  low-hung. 


62  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

stormy  sky ;  while  the  gulls,  skimming  along  close  to 
the  water,  uttered  harsh  cries  of  terror  or  warning  as 
they  fled  before  the  chill  east  wind. 

"  It  looks  set  for  dirty  weather,  and  that  by  noon  of 
this  day,"  said  the  farmer  uneasily.  "Molly,  my 
maid,  I  don't  feel  right  to  leave  you  here  your  lone ; 
yet  you're  a  brave  wench,  and  a  stout  one  too,  and 
Amariah  will  be  back  to-morrow." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,  father.  Why  should  I  be  ?  "  replied 
Molly  quietly,  as  she  carefully  arranged  a  hot  soapstone 
in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon  for  her  mother's  feet  to 
rest  upon.  Her  father  stepped  closer,  and  spoke  in  a 
lower  voice :  — 

"The  most  that  worries  me  is  that  money  in  the 
secretary  yon.  If  it  were  not  for  that,  I'd  say  shut  up 
the  house,  and  go  stop  at  neighbor  Hethei ford's;  but 
I  don't  like  to  leave  so  much  in  the  house  alone,  and 
I  don't  like  any  but  thee,  my  lass,  to  know  of  it 
Reuben  is  a  good  enough  fellow ;  but  yet "  — 

"  Don't  be  uneasy,  father,"  interrupted  Molly  hastily ; 
for  Deborah's  voice  preceded  her  out  of  the  house 
like  a  blast  of  the  shrill  east  wind  :  — 

"  Mary,  Mary  !  Surely  thee  has  forgotten  the  elder- 
flower  wine  I  was  to  carry  to  Friend  Mehitable  Barker, 
and  the  nut-cakes  "  — 

"They're  all  in,  safely,  mother,"  replied  Molly,  and 
hurriedly  continued  in  her  father's  ear, — 

"  Nobody  will  know  of  the  money,  whatever  hap 
pens;    and  I  will  not    leave   the  house   until    you 
return." 
"  God  bless  you,  my  faithful  little  girl  1 "  muttered 


MOLLY.  63 

the  father,  and  turned  to  meet  his  wife,  who  staggered 
out  of  the  house,  her  arms  full  of  last  packages,  and 
allowed  herself  and  them  to  be  stored  in  the  wagon 
by  Humphrey's  somewhat  hurried  movements,  hurling 
back  last  charges  at  Molly  all  the  while. 

"  Now  don't  thee  forget,  Mary,  to  change  the  water 
on  the  pickles  every  day,  and  feed  the  hens  with  hot 
food ;  and  mind  that  Amariah  looks  well  after  the  pigs, 
and  see  if  thee  can  spin  out  all  the  rolls  I  have  put  in 
the  top  drawer ;  and  be  sure  have  Mercy  Hetherford 
over  to  sleep  with  thee  every  night ;  and  don't  thee 
let  Reuben  stay  after  dark,  and  "  — 

But  just  at  this  point  the  horse  and  his  driver  came 
to  an  understanding,  through  which  the  wagon  started 
suddenly  forward,  cutting  short  the  good  dame's 
speech  with  a  jerk. 


A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  SPINNING-WHEEL. 

A  SOBER  little  smile  flitted  across  Molly's  lips 
as  she  noted  the  vivacious  manner  in  which  her 
mother  turned  upon  her  father,  as  the  wagon  drove 
away,  and  fancied  the  comments  she  would  make  upon 
the  jerk  with  which  her  directions  had  been  abruptly 
ended.  Then  shivering  a  little  she  entered  the  house, 
but  paused  on  the  threshold  to  look  over  at  the  roofs 
of  some  farm-buildings  half  hidden  by  the  sand-hills. 

"I  hope  Mercy  will  come  before  dark,  and  then 
Reuben  needn't  come  with  her.  'After  dark,'  says 
mother !  With  my  will  he'd  never  come." 

And,  closing  and  barring  the  front  door,  Molly 
passed  through  the  melancholy  "fore-room,"  as  the 
parlor,  sacred  to  visitors  and  solemn  occasions,  was 
called,  to  the  great  sunshiny  kitchen  extending  across 
the  back  of  the  house,  its  wide  latticed  window  looking 
southerly  toward  the  sea,  its  porched  door  opening 
toward  the  east,  and  the  family  bedroom  extending 
across  the  western  end.  Tabitha,  the  great  tortoise- 
shell  cat,  came  forward  to  meet  her  mistress,  arching 
her  back  and  mewing  in  a  sentimental  sort  of  way, 
which  brought  another  smile  to  Molly's  lips,  as,  stoop^ 
inor  to  pat  her,  she  gayly  said,  — 


THE  SPINNING-WHEEL.  65 

"Why,  Tab,  surely  you  are  never  going  to  be  lone- 
some, and  so  soon  too  !  You  and  I  are  the  garrison 
of  the  fortress,  and  must  make  a  brave  show,  though  it 
be  with  quaking  hearts  beneath." 

She  gave  the  cat  her  breakfast,  and  then  busied  her- 
self in  clearing  the  table,  washing  the  dishes,  and 
various  household  details,  all  performed  in  the  rapid, 
noiseless,  and  thorough  fashion  of  one  who  brings  to 
such  homely  work  the  will,  the  mind,  and  the  con- 
science that  would  fitly  administer  the  affairs  of  a 
castle  or  a  palace,  had  the  individual  been  so  placed. 

Her  active  work  finished,  Molly  drew  the  great 
spinning-wheel  to  the  centre  of  the  glittering  kitchen ; 
and  humming  cheerily  a  hunting-song,  in  which  her 
father  often  indulged  when  alone  with  her  in  his  boat 
or  tossing  the  hay  upon  the  meadows,  she  began  the 
graceful  toil,  than  which  no  sport  was  ever  more  be- 
coming to  lithe  maiden  form 'or  shapely  hands  and 
arms. 

The  song  had  given  place  to  a  quaint  old  hymn, 
when  a  sharp  tap  upon  the  southern  window  made  the 
spinner  snap  her  thread,  as  she  hastily  turned  to  see  a 
man's  face  pressed  against  the  glass  and  smiling  upon 
her.  Not  an  unknown  or  alarming  face,  but  yet  a 
very  repulsive  face,  —  mean,  sordid,  cruel,  with  small 
gray  eyes,  too  closely  set,  a  narrow  hollow  brow,  scant 
red  hair,  hardly  perceptible  in  eyebrows  and  lashes, 
although  straggling  in  patches  over  the  cheeks  and 
around  the  thin-lipped,  deceitful  mouth. 

And  this  was  the  man  to  whom  Deborah  Wilder 
fain  would  give  her  only  child,  and  that  immediately. 


65  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

As  Molly  recognized  him,  the  song  died  from  her  lips, 
the  look  of  placid  content  from  her  eyes ;  and,  passing 
to  the  door,  she  slipped  the  bolt  across  it  before  she 
a  proached  the  window,  and,  opening  it  a  little  way, 
coldly  said,  — 

"Good-morning,  Reuben:  have  you  a  message?" 
"Only  that  Mercy  is  coming  over  this  afternoon. 
Shall  I  tie  my  horse,  and  come  in  for  a  little?  " 

"  You  know  for  yourself  that  my  father  said  you  were 
not  to  come  in  unless  Mercy  was  with  me  :  she  does 
not  appear  to  me  to  be  here  now." 

"You  are  over-nice,  Mistress  Molly.  Well,  I  only 
came  to  say  to  you,  that  after  dinner  I  am  going  to 
ride  over  to  the  Corners ;  and,  if  you  like,  you  may  go 
too." 

"  But  I  don't  like,  thank  you,  Master  Reuben,  so 
that  errand  is  soon  done,"  said  Molly  scornfully ;  and 
Reuben's  scowl  did  not  improve  his  beauty,  as  he 
retorted,  — 

"  You  might  at  least  be  civil,  mistress  :  what's  amiss 
now,  I  wonder?" 

"  The  weather  is  very  much  amiss  for  standing  at 
open  windows ;  so,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  e'en  close 
this  one,  and  go  on  with  my  work."  And  with  a  little 
laugh,  as  icy  as  the  wind,  she  closed  the  casement, 
and  turned  the  button  securing  it,  then  went  back  to 
her  wheel  without  vouchsafing  another  look  at  the 
angry  suitor,  who  went  away  muttering  savagely,  — 

"  Your  mother  will  make  you  mend  your  mjtmers, 
my  lady,  when  she  comes  home:  and,  once  we're 
married,  I'll  see  what  a  little  wholesome  correct?™  will 
do  ;  I  won't  forget,  never  fear." 


THE  SPINNING-WHEEL.  67 

Ten  minutes  longer  the  spinning-wheel  kept  its 
rhythmic  measure,  as  you  may  hear  it  in  Mendelssohn's 
Lied  ;  and  then  of  a  sudden  Molly  dropped  the  thread, 
and,  clasping  her  hands  together,  stood  with  lifted 
head  and  steadfast  eyes,  while  over  her  young  face 
crept  the  look  its  lines  would  have  taught  a  physiog- 
nomist to  sometime  expect  there,  although  it  might  not 
be  for  years. 

Joan  of  Arc  resolving  to  give  her  young  life  to 
France ;  Charlotte  Corday  dedicating  hers  to  Liberty ; 
Anne  Askew  consecrating  hers  to  God,  —  all  these 
could  recognize  that  look,  and  strike  hands  with  one 
fit  to  be  their  sister ;  but  like  other  great  crises  in  our 
lives  it  passed  unseen,  unnoted,  in  silence,  save  as  the 
girl's  pale  lips  murmured  almost  inaudibly,  — 

"  No  !  let  what  will  come,  I  have  made  my  mind : 
I  will  never  be  Reuben  Hetherford's  wife." 

But  the  moments  in  which  one  remains  on  the  pin- 
nacle of  a  grand  resolve  are  not  minutes,  and  do  not 
hold  a  second  breath.  Even  as  she  spoke,  a  trouble 
began  to  shadow  the  girl's  bright  eyes,  and  dim  the 
hero-light  of  her  expression.  Like  a  cloud,  the  pre- 
science of  conflict,  and  weary  argument,  and  slow, 
crushing  oppression,  came  over  her,  as  she  remembered 
her  mother,  who,  for  reasons  of  her  own,  had  this 
marriage  so  much  at  heart,  and  who  so  well  knew  how 
to  wear  out  her  opponent  in  ^.y  struggle ;  and  who 
never  relinquished  a  point,  though  life  was  fretted 
away  in  fruitless  opposition,  as  in  the  matter  of  her 
husband's  religion.  All  this,  and  much,  much  more, 
passed  through  the  girl's  mind  in  that  first  prophetic 


68  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

flash ;  and  then  she  set  herself,  with  the  dogged  prac- 
ticality inherited  from  her  father,  to  consider  the 
matter,  point  by  point,  as  it  would  probably  develop ; 
and  not  so  much  from  her  own  point  of  view  as  from 
her  father's,  whom  she  loved  far  better  than  herself, 
and  had  of  late  unconsciously  taken  under  the  pro- 
tection of  her  own  young  strength  and  resolute  nature  : 
for  the  years  which  sharpened  Deborah's  tongue,  and 
exasperated  her  temper,  seemed  stealing  a  little  from 
the  stone  and  iron  of  her  husband's  resistance ;  and 
a  weary  look  was  growing  in  his  eyes,  and  a  harassed 
wrinkle  upon  his  brow,  that  made  Molly's  heart  ache 
sorely  when  she  noted  them. 

And  in  this  matter  she  knew  but  too  well  that  she 
herself  should  not  be  the  only  or  even  the  chief  suf- 
ferer; and  here  was  the  keenest  grief,  yet  never  a 
shadow  of  wavering.  Did  Anne  Askew  waver  when 
she  saw  the  rack,  think  you  ?  or  Jeanne  d'Arc  when 
she  came  to  her  funeral  pyre  ?  And  this  Molly  was  of 
their  stuff,  and  could  not  shrink,  though  dearer  than 
her  own  flesh  was  to  become  the  martyr. 

But  it  was  with  a  heavy  sigh  that  she  at  last  drew 
her  hand  across  her  brow,  and  said,  — 

"  Oh,  poor,  poor  father !  If  only  I  could  take  it 
all,  and  all  at  once,  and  never  see  your  dear  eyes  look 
so  tired  again  !  But  it  must  go  on.  Yes  "  — 

She  sank  into  a  chair,  and  sat  motionless  for  a  long 
hour ;  while  the  fire  burned  low  upon  the  hearth,  and 
the  sparkle  died  out  of  the  burnished  pewter  platters, 
and  the  wheel,  but  now  so  joyous,  stood  mute  and 
motionless,  and  the  cat  ceased  her  purring,  and  moved 


THE  SPINNING-WHEEL.  69 

uneasily  about  the  room,  muttering  a  discontented 
half-mew.  Without,  the  clouds  that  all  the  morning 
had  been  trooping  up  from  the  under-world,  and 
massing  their  forces  far  out  at  sea,  found  themselves 
ready  to  unmask  their  batteries,  and  with  a  shrill  blast 
of  onset  swept  down  in  a  terrific  whirl  of  wind  and 
sleet  and  sand  from  the  beach,  all  hurtling  together 
against  the  window  and  down  the  wide-throated  chim- 
ney, swooping  the  ashes  from  the  hearth  far  across  the 
floor,  and  into  the  cat's  great  golden  eyes,  until  she 
arched  her  back,  and  spit  and  miauled  in  angry  terror. 

Roused  from  her  revery,  Molly  looked  about  her 
for  a  moment  abstractedly ;  then,  with  a  visible  effort 
at  self-command,  resuming  her  usual  manner,  she  rose 
and  went  to  the  window,  and  saw  that  the  storm  had 
burst  in  snow  and  sleet,  with  every  appearance  of 
continuance. 

"  All  the  better.  The  Hetherfords  will  keep  away," 
said  she  aloud,  then,  looking  about  her,  saw  that  her 
careful  father  had  supplied  her  with  wood  and  water 
for  twenty-four  hours  at  least,  and  remembered  that  a 
man  from  the  Hetherford  farm  was  to  look  after  the 
live-stock  at  the  barn  until  Amariah's  return  with  the 
horse  and  wagon  next  day.  Then  she  swept  up  the 
ashes,  prepared  dinner  for  herself  and  Tabitha,  and, 
when  all  was  again  in  order,  resumed  her  spinning, 
but  not  her  song,  —  no,  not  even  her  hymn.  Four 
o'clock,  and  the  outer  porch  door  was  thrown  vio- 
lently open,  the  inner  latch  rattled,  and  a  shrill  voice 
cried,  — 

"Molly!     Molly  Wilder!     Let  me  in  !     It's  me!" 


70  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Why,  Mercy !  I  never  looked  for  you  in  this 
storm  ! "  exclaimed  Molly,  hastening  to  undo  the  door, 
and  admit  the  whitened,  dishevelled  figure  of  a  girl 
about  her  own  age,  but  bearing  too  much  resemblance 
to  Reuben  Hetherford  for  beauty,  although  his  scant 
red  locks  had  developed  upon  his  sister's  head  into  an 
abundant  chevelure  of  deep  auburn,  the  eyes  to  a 
pair  of  blue  orbs  twice  the  size  of  his,  and  his  thin 
lips  to  a  pretty,  if  somewhat  shrewish,  mouth.  Still 
the  family  resemblance,  the  intention  of  the  face,  was 
too  marked  to  allow  Mary  Wilder,  at  least,  to  admire 
it ;  and  her  manner,  though  courteous,  was  certainly 
a  little  cool,  as  she  relieved  her  visitor  of  her  snow- 
laden  scarlet  cloak  and  hood,  and  placed  a  chair  for 
her  beside  the  fire. 

"So  you  didn't  expect  me?"  began  the  visitor, 
drawing  the  long  over-stockings  from  her  feet,  and 
extending  them  to  the  cheerful  blaze.  "Well,  mother 
said  it  was  as  much  as  my  life  was  worth  to  come  out ; 
and  if  you  hadn't  acted  so  silly  when  Reuben  called 
at  noontime,  I  needn't  have  come,  for  she  would  have 
sent  him  to  fetch  you  over." 

"  How  was  I  silly?  "  asked  Molly  calmly. 

"  Why,  not  letting  him  in,  and  running  round  fasten- 
ing the  doors  and  windows,  as  if  he  was  a  band  of 
robbers  at  the  very  least.  Ma'am  says  it's  enough  to 
put  bad  thoughts  in  a  young  man's  head,  when  he 
wouldn't  have  had  them  himself." 

"  My  father  and  mother  both  told  me,  while  Reuten 
=>at  by  last  night,  that  I  was  not  to  have  him  in  the 
house  except  while  you  were  here,  and  even  so,  he 


THE  SPINNING-WHEEL.  7 1 

was  not  to  stay  after  nine  o'clock.  Your  mothei 
would  not  have  me  disobey  my  mother,  I  suppose," 
said  Mary  quietly. 

"  Well,  I  don't  care,  I'm  sure,"  replied  Mercy,  with 
a  toss  of  her  head.  "But  she's  going  to  send  him 
over,  the  minute  he  gets  back  from  the  Corners,  to 
lake  us  both  home  on  the  sled.  She  says  maybe 
we'd  get  snowed  up  here  by  to-morrow  morning ;  and, 
anyway,  it's  better  for  you  to  be  over  there  nights 
while  your  mother  is  away." 

"Your  mother  is  very  kind,  but  I  shall  stay  here," 
returned  Molly  still  very  quietly,  although  a  deep  red 
rose  began  to  burn  on  either  cheek,  and  her  lips 
closed  a  little  tighter  than  their  wont. 

Mercy  looked  at  her  shrewdly  for  a  moment,  warm- 
ing first  one,  then  the  other,  of  her  chilled  feet,  then 
said,  with  a  short,  sharp  laugh,  — 

"  My !  Won't  you  and  Reuben  just  fight  when 
once  you're  married  !  You're  mighty  proud  of  never 
giving  in,  but  I  guess  you'll  find  your  master  then. 
I  used  to  try  to  stand  out  against  him  sometimes,  but 
I  got  sick  of  it." 

"Why,  what  could  he  do  to  make  you  afraid  of 
him?"  asked  Molly  a  little  curiously. 

"  Stick  pins  in  me,  pull  my  hair,  pinch  little  bits 
right  out  of  my  arms,  put  things  to  scare  me  in  the 
dark,  set  a  dog  on  me,  make  mother  mad,  and  lots  of 
things  beside.  You'll  find  out  if  you  undertake  any 
high  and  mighty  ways  after  you're  married."  And 
Mercy  smiled  delightedly  at  the  prospect  of  the 
future.  Molly  smiled  too,  a  smile  half  contempt,  half 


72  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

conscious  strength,  and  said,  in  her  calm  and  even 
tones,  — 

"I  shouldn't  like  to  have  my  hair  pulled,  or  my 
arms  pinched,  or  to  be  made  into  a  pincushion ;  and  I 
think  the  best  way  to  avoid  it  will  be  not  to  marry 
Reuben  if  those  are  his  fashions." 

"  Oh  !  but  you've  got  to  marry  him,  you  know,"  ex- 
claimed Mercy,  alarmed  at  the  possible  result  of  her 
revelations.  "He'll  be  good  enough  to  you,  of 
course,  especially  if  you  don't  contradict  him.  He 
thinks  every  thing  of  you." 

"  Hear  the  wind  !  It  will  be  a  dreadful  night  at 
sea  ! "  exclaimed  Molly,  going  to  the  window,  looking 
out  for  a  moment,  and  then  partially  drawing  the  cur- 
tain ;  but  as  she  did  so  the  cat  jumped  up  in  a  chair, 
and,  putting  her  fore-paws  upon  the  window-ledge, 
looked  out  intently.  Molly  laughed  blithely,  exclaim- 
ing,— 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Tabitha,  so  I  must  leave  the  window 
uncurtained  for  your  accommodation,  must  I  ?  Well, 
there,  you  9hall  have  a  corner  to  yourself." 

She  adjusted  the  heavy  moreen  curtain  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  leave  a  small  portion  of  the  window 
uncovered,  and  then,  drawing  a  little  table  in  front  of 
the  fire,  said  cheerily,  — 

"And  now  we'll  have  our  tea,  and  forget  every  thing 
beside.  Mother  made  us  a  whole  pantry  full  of 
goodies  yesterday.  She  did  not  seem  to  think  I 
could  take  care  of  myself  at  all." 

"Did  she  make  some  of  her  pound-cake ?"  asked 
Mercy  eagerly;  for  Mrs.  Hetherford's  larder  was  by 


THE  SPINNING-WHEEL.  73 

no  means  so  bounteous  as  that  of  Deborah  Wilder, 
and  Miss  Mercy  was  both  an  epicure  and  a  gourmand. 

The  pound-cake  was  produced,  and  cut  into  great 
golden  squares ;  the  nut-cakes,  the  snap-gingerbread, 
the  pies,  and  the  sweetmeats  were  all  set  forth;  the 
rich  cream-toast  was  steaming  upon  the  table ;  and 
Molly  had  filled  the  two  glasses  with  milk,  —  the  inno- 
cent beverage  not  yet  superseded  in  rural  districts  by 
tea  or  coffee,  — when  a  jingle  of  bells,  a  stamping  of 
feet,  and  the  sharp  rap  of  a  whip-handle  upon  the 
door,  announced  a  visitor. 

"  It's  Reuben,  come  to  take  us  both  home  ! "  ex- 
claimed Mercy  confidently :  and  the  next  moment 
proved  her  prophecy  correct ;  for  as  Molly  opened  the 
door,  the  shaggy,  snow-dropping  figure  of  a  man 
entered  the  room,  and,  removing  the  flapping  hat  tied 
over  his  ears,  showed  the  mean  features  of  Reuben 
Hetnerford. 


•4  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MOLLY  ACCEPTS  THE   CONSEQUENCES. 

T  T  7ITH  grave  hospitality,  untinged  by  any  flutter 
VV  of  maiden  delight  in  welcoming  as  guest  the 
man  whose  life-long  guest  she  may  become,  Molly 
Wilder  received  the  new-comer,  invited  him  to  throw 
off  his  wraps,  and  to  seat  himself  at  the  bountiful  tea- 
table.  Reuben  accepted  the  invitation  with  alacrity ; 
and  having  placed  himself  in  the  seat  of  honor, — at 
the  foot  of  the  table,  —  he  asked  a  blessing,  followed 
at  once  by  a  smile  of  bashful  delight,  as  he  added,  — 

"Seems  almost  as  if  we  were  married  already ;  don't 
it,  Molly?" 

Molly  made  no  reply:  her  whole  consciousness 
seemed  absorbed  in  the  great  resolve  she  had  just 
made,  and  never  for  a  moment  forgot;  and  while 
Reuben,  full  of  vulgar  hilarity,  heaped  his  own  and  his 
sister's  plate  with  many  a  jest  as  to  his  generosity  as  a 
provider,  and  the  bountiful  table  he  loved  to  keep,  and 
while  Mercy,  luxuriating  in  unlimited  dainties,  forgot  all 
but  their  enjoyment,  their  hostess  was  watching  both 
with  dispassionate  scrutiny,  and  figuring  to  herself  a 
life  wherein  three  times  in  every  day  she  must  confront 
that  crafty  and  vulgar  face,  lighted  as  now  by  the 
greed  of  animal  enjoyment,  hear  those  harsh  and 


MOLLY  ACCEPTS   THE   CONSEQUENCES.    75 

uncultivated  accents,  and  reply  to  jests  that  found  no 
sympathy  in  her  more  refined  sense  of  humor,  or 
gossip  that  did  not  interest  her.  She  was  aroused 
from  this  revery  by  her  lover's  direct  address :  — 

"  You  ought  to  have  gone  over  to  the  Corners  with 
me,  Molly,  there  was  so  much  news  stirring,  —  about 
the  fighting  up  in  Canada,  and  all  that.  Say,  I  suppose 
you  wouldn't  let  me  go  up  there,  and  be  a  soldier, 
would  you?  not  before  we're  married  anyway,  and 
after  that  I  wouldn't  want  to  go." 

"  Do  you  now  ?  "  asked  Molly,  with  a  strong  flavor 
of  scepticism  in  her  voice. 

"  Well,  the  pay  is  better  than  for  farming,  especially 
in  the  winter-time  ;  but  maybe  I'll  make  some  money 
without  risking  your  chance  of  getting  a  husband. 
They  say,  over  at  the  Corners,  that  a  big  French 
vessel  —  a  man-of-war — got  driven  up  the  bay  by 
this  gale ;  you  know  how  it's  blown  for  most  a  week ; 
and  the  Johnny  Crappos  couldn't  manage  her,  and  she 
got  ashore  down  on  the  Elizabeth  Reefs,  and  just 
thumped  to  pieces  there  ;  that  was  last  night,  — no,  night 
afore  last,  and  they've  got  'em  all  prisoners  down  at 
the  fort,  —  that  is,  most  all ;  but  they  think  some  got 
away :  and  they've  offered  a  reward  of  twenty  dollars 
a  head  for  all  that  can  be  found  and  brought  in  before 
next  Monday,  when  they're  going  to  march  'em  up  to 
Boston  to  change  off  for  some  of  our  own  men  laid 
by  the  heels  in  Quebec.  Now,  if  a  fellow  cou'.d  find 
one  of  them  lurking  round,  and  get  the  twenty  dollars, 
eh?" 

"Would  you  sell  a  poor,  trembling  fugitive  that 
» listed  you?  "  asked  Molly  in  a  low  voice. 


76  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Would  I  ?  Wouldn't  I,  though  ?  "  chuckled  Reu- 
ben, filling  his  mouth  with  mince-pie.  "  It  would  just 
be  fun  to  lead  him  on,  thinking  you  were  going  to  hide 
him  away  safely,  and  once  he  was  in  the  trap,  phew  ! 
how  quick  you'd  kick  away  the  prop,  and  let  down 
the  door !  And  it  ain't  likely  they'd  be  armed,  so 
there  wouldn't  be  any  great  danger." 

"That's  a  consideration,  certainly,"  replied  his 
fiancee  in  so  strange  a  voice  that  Mercy,  whose 
capacity  even  for  pound-cake  and  cream-toast  was 
utterly  exhausted,  turned,  and  looked  sharply  at  her 
for  a  moment,  then  exclaimed,  — 

"Why,  Molly  Wilder,  what's  the  matter  with  you? 
You're  as  white  as  a  sheet,  and  your  eyes  are  like  a 
cat's  in  the  dark.  If  there'd  been  any  thing  to  lay  it 
to,  I'd  say  you  were  awful  mad." 

"  But  as  there  isn't,"  said  Molly,  pushing  back  her 
chair. 

"But  as  there  isn't,"  echoed  Reuben,  also  rising, 
"I  think  we'd  better  be  going.  You  know,  Molly, 
mother  wants  you  to  come  over  there  to-night,  and 
stay  till  the  storm's  over." 

"Your  mother  is  very  kind,  as  I  said  to  Mercy," 
replied  Molly  steadily;  "but  I  cannot  leave  home." 

"  Oh,  but  you  must ! "  retorted  Reuben  with  easy 
positiveness.  "  Mother  and  I  both  think  it's  best,  and 
mother  won't  let  Mercy  stay  over  here  anyway." 

"I  am  sorry,  because  in  that  case  I  must  stay 
alone,"  replied  Molly,  still  in  her  tone  of  calm  and 
immovable  decision. 

Mr.  Hetherford  began  to  wax  angry,  and  to  ex- 


MOLLY  ACCEPTS  THE  CONSEQUENCES.   77 

change  his  lover-like  tone  for  the  surly  and  tyrannical 
one  befitting  his  idea  of  the  marital  character  and 
privileges. 

"  It's  all  waste  time  and  breath  for  you  to  say  any 
more  about  it,"  announced  he  at  length.  "  You're  a- 
going  over  to  my  house  in  just  about  ten  minutes,  and 
you  may  as  well  go  with  a  good  grace.  A  girl  like 
you  can't  judge  what's  best  for  her ;  and,  while  your 
father  and  mother  are  away,  me  and  my  mother  are 
the  ones  to  say  for  you." 

"  I  do  not  acknowledge  the  right  at  all,  Mr.  Hether 
ford,  replied  Molly  coldly ;  "  and,  although  very  grate- 
ful to  your  mother  and  yourself"  — 

"  Hang  all  that ! "  roared  Hetherford  :  "  I  say  you're 
to  go,  and  you're  going." 

"I  deny  your  right  to  command,  and  I  shall  not 
obey." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  who  has  a  better  right  to 
command  a  woman  than  her  husband,  or  he  who  is 
soon  to  be  her  husband." 

"  You  will  never  be  my  husband,  Reuben  Hether- 
ford." 

"  Oh,  pshaw !     I've  heard  girls  talk  before." 

"  I  never  talk  without  meaning  what  I  say.  I  have 
determined,  fully  determined,  to  break  off  my  engage- 
ment to  you,  and  I  now  do  so.  It  is  a  thing  alto- 
gether settled  in  my  own  mind,  and  your  violence  just 
now  has  only  hastened  the  announcement  of  my  pur 
pose." 

"  Nonsense,  Molly  ! "  interposed  Mercy,  who  read 
more  shrewdly  than  her  brother  the  signs  of  determi 


78  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

nation  and  strength  in  the  face  of  her  friend,  and  who 
wished  to  temporize  if  possible,  and  gain  time  to 
bring  the  maternal  forces  into  the  field.  "  Don't  you 
and  Reuben  go  to  quarrelling  to-night.  Sleep  over  it, 
and  you'll  feel  different  in  the  morning ;  and,  if  you 
won't  come  over  to  our  house  for  him,  come  for  me. 
It's  awfully  lonesome  for  us  two  girls  in  such  a  storm 
as  this,  in  this  empty  house ;  and,  besides,  I  daren't 
stay  when  mother  has  sent  for  me.  She'd  be  awful 
mad,  and  maybe  come  over  after  us  herself.  Do 
come  home  with  me,  and  Reuben  sha'n't  say  a  word 
about  it,  anyway." 

But  Molly  put  her  arms  about  the  girl's  neck,  and, 
kissing  her  tenderly,  repeated  as  firmly  as  ever,  — 

"  I  must  stay  here,  Mercy ;  for  my  father  and  mother 
left  me  here,  and  I  must  obey  them  as  you  do  yours. 
As  for  Reuben,  I  do  not  love  him,  and  I  could  not 
make  him  happy  or  be  happy  myself  with  him ;  and  it 
is  much  better  the  thing  should  end  just  here.  I  hope 
you  will  still  be  friends  with  me,  Mercy,  —  you  and  all 
your  house." 

"  As  for  that,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Mercy  a  trifle 
viciously,  for  her  temper  was  getting  the  upper  hand 
of  her  diplomacy.  "I  don't  suppose  we  should 
feel  just  the  same,  any  of  us.  But  I  don't  be- 
lieve we  need  spend  much  time  settling  all  that, 
until  your  mother  comes  home,  and  we  hear  what 
she  says." 

"Yes :  I  guess  she'll  bring  you  to  your  senses,  Mis- 
tress Mary,"  chimed  in  Reuben,  whose  face  had  for 
some  moments  presented  a  curious  study  of  conflict 


MOLLY  ACCEPTS   THE   CONSEQUENCES.    79 

ing  emotions,  alarm  and  wounded  love  holding  place 
inferior  to  a  sort  of  cruel  impatience,  as  if  he  longed 
above  all  things  else  to  have  this  calm  and  haughty 
rebel  in  his  power,  and  to  try  upon  her  fair  person 
and  disdainful  spirit  some  of  those  arts  of  subjugation 
mentioned  by  his  sister  a  little  while  previously.  But, 
looking  at  him  with  a  smile  of  superb  contempt,  she 
said  very  quietly,  — 

"  It  is  of  no  use  for  us  to  talk  more  upon  this  mat- 
ter, Mr.  Hetherford.  No  human  power  can  compel 
me  to  become  your  wife,  and  most  certainly  I  never 
will.  Neither  will  I  leave  this  house ;  and,  since 
Mercy  cannot  remain  with  me,  I  must  remain 
alone." 

"I  wouldn't  stay  anyhow,  after  your  using  my 
brother  such  a  fashion,"  exclaimed  Mercy  angrily.  "  I 
reckon  you'll  sing  another  song  though,  after  your 
mother  comes  home.  You'll  be  glad  enough  to  eat 
humble-pie  then,  and  maybe  "  — 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  interrupted  Reuben  savagely, 
he  being  one  of  the  many  persons  who  cannot  endure 
anybody's  ill-temper  but  their  own ;  and  turning  to 
Molly,  with  an  attempt  at  her  own  quiet  dignity,  he 
said,  — 

"Well,  Mary,  we  shall  have  to  leave  you,  since 
you're  so  set  on  staying ;  and  if  I  go  out  of  your  house 
this  way  I  shall  not  enter  it  again  without  a  good  deal 
of  urging.  You  had  better  think  twice  before  you  say 
the  last  word :  you  had  better  look  well  at  the  conse- 
quences ' 

"  I  have  thought  and  I  have  looked,  and  I  am  quite 


80  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

ready  and  willing  to  take  all  the  consequences  of  my 
decision  in  both  matters,"  replied  Molly  calmly ;  and 
without  another  word  Reuben  Hetherford  flung  on  his 
outer  garments,  and  left  the  house. 


THE  CONSEQUENCES.  8l 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  CONSEQUENCES. 

TT  is  one  thing  to  assert  one's  willingness  to  take  the 
JL  consequences  of  one's  own  action,  and  another  to 
know  what  to  do  with  them  when  they  come.  Molly 
Wilder  was  by  no  means  tenderly  attached  to  Mercy 
Hetherford :  but  she  was  her  companion  of  infancy, 
she  was  the  only  girl  she  had  ever  familiarly  associated 
with ;  she  had  tried  to  look  upon  her  as  a  future  sis- 
ter, and  she  had  always  held  a  place  of  quiet  superi- 
ority over  her.  When,  therefore,  she  found  her  offers 
of  assistance,  in  muffling  her  guest  against  the  storm, 
angrily  repulsed;  when  her  efforts  at  placation  pro- 
duced only  bitter  retorts,  or  insulting  silence ;  when 
she  saw  her  late  friend  turn  upon  the  threshold,  and 
ostentatiously  wipe  the  dust  from  off  her  feet,  before 
springing  into  the  sleigh  Reuben  had  driven  close  to 
the  step,  —  a  pang  such  as  she  had  never  known  in  all 
her  placid  life  stung  through  her  hc^rt.  The  only  girl 
friend  she  had  ever  known  repudiated  and  threw  her 
off !  By  her  own  act,  it  was  true :  and  not  for  one 
moment  did  the  stanch  heart  waver  in  its  determina- 
tion ;  although,  as  in  a  flash  „-  lurid  light,  she  again 
saw  the  chance  of  many  a  bitterer  pang,  many  a 
deeper  wound,  whe.i  her  mother  should  know  of  her 


82  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

resolve,  and  should  revenge  the  disappointment  not 
only  upon  herself,  but  the  dear  father  whom  she  loved 
better  than  herself. 

She  stood  gazing  out  at  the  open  door,  the  slow 
tears  rising  to  her  eyes  and  brimming  unheeded  over, 
while  the  sleigh  was  slowly  turned,  and  so  slowly  driven 
out  of  the  yard,  that  one  might  imagine  the  driver  was 
granting  time  for  even  the  tardiest  of  recalls;  but 
none  came,  and  it  passed  out  of  sight,  leaving  the 
ghostly  sound  of  the  snow-muffled  sleigh-bells  linger- 
ing for  a  few  moments  upon  the  night ;  and  then  no 
sight,  no  sound,  but  the  white  expanse  of  the  level 
waste  broken  by  spectral  and  snow-sheeted  forms  of 
familiar  objects,  and  the  hiss  of  the  sleety  snow  as  it 
smote  the  unshuttered  windows,  and  heaped  itself  in 
fantastic  wreaths  and  drifts  about  the  lonely  house. 

A  sudden  dash  of  stinging  sleet  upon  her  face 
roused  Molly  from  her  abstraction ;  and  with  a  heavy 
sigh  she  closed  the  door,  shook  the  snow  from  her 
clothes  and  hair,  and,  re-entering  the  kitchen,  shut  the 
porch-door,  and  looked  about  her.  The  chairs  hasti- 
ly pushed  back,  the  plates  and  knives  and  glasses 
around  the  table,  even  the  wet  print  of  feet  beside  the 
hearth,  all  told  of  late  companionship  and  present 
abandonment ;  and  for  the  first  time  a  little  chill  of 
terror  crept  through  the  girl's  healthy  blood,  and  of  a 
sudden  she  remembered  Reuben's  story  of  the  escaped 
Frenchmen  supposed  to  be  prowling  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. What  sort  of  being  a  Frenchman  might  be, 
Molly  did  not  know;  but  he  was  an  enemy  of  "her 
country  if  not  of  herself;  and  it  was  not  so  many  years 


tHE  CONSEQUENCES.  83 

since  the  Wilders  had  left  their  English  home,  that 
they  should  have  forgotten  one  of  her  prejudices,  or 
ceassd  to  feel  her  cause  as  much  their  own  here  in  the 
colony,  as  there  at  the  centre  of  government. 

But  Molly  was  constitutionally  brave,  and  not  at  all 
given  to  imagination  :  so  after  a  momentary  glance  at 
the  prospect  of  invasion  by  a  horde  of  desperate,  fully- 
armed,  and  ruffianly  men,  probably  black,  or  at  least 
yellow  of  complexion,  and  murderous  of  demeanor, 
she  set  the  subject  aside,  and  going  back  to  the  door 
saw  that  it  was  securely  fastened ;  then  taking  a  can- 
dle she  went  through  the  sacred  and  carefully-closed 
parlor  to  the  front  door,  examined  that  also,  recalled 
to  mind  the  care  with  which  her  mother  had  looked 
to  the  security  of  every  window  in  the  house ;  and, 
having  thus  convinced  her  reason  of  the  unreasonable- 
ness of  terror,  found  herself  fully  prepared  for  that 
sort  of  unreasoning  and  intangible  terror,  as  impossible 
to  combat  as  the  flying  shadows  of  the  windmill  sails. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,"  said  she  aloud, 
as  she  skurried  through  the  dismal  parlor,  and  closed 
the  door  behind  her.  A  fluttering  at  the  heart,  al- 
most depriving  her  of  breath,  mocked  at  her  brave 
words ;  and  pressing  her  hand  to  her  side  she  leaned 
against  the  door-casing,  and,  panting  a  little  for  breath, 
looked  slowly  around  the  kitchen.  The  familiar  and 
homely  scene  re-assured  her:  upon  the  hearth  sat 
Tabitha  slowly  blinking  her  great  golden  eyes  at  the 
fire,  whose  leaping  blaze  again  made  mirrors  of  the 
pewter  platters  ranged  upon  the  dresser,  turned  the 
precious  brazen  kettle  into  a  shield  of  pure  gold, 


84  ^  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

and  danced  upon  the  jolly  face  of  the  tall  clock  in  the 
corner,  just  ready  now  to  strike  eight.  The  bounti- 
fully-spread table  still  stood  as  the  convives  had  left 
it,  and,  with  the  rich  colors  and  picturesque  abundance 
of  its  viands,  made  a  feature  of  the  scene  as  attractive 
in  its  place  as  the  table  spread  by  young  Porphyro  for 
Madeline  was  in  another. 

"  We're  not  afraid,  Tabby,  are  we  ?  It's  a  deal 
better  to  be  alone  than  to  have  poor  company :  don't 
you  think  so,  puss  ?  " 

And  Molly  still  a  little  fluttered,  and  not  quite  ready 
for  active  employment,  sank  into  the  great  leathern 
arm-chair  beside  the  hearth,  and  stooped  to  take  the 
cat  upon  her  knee.  As  she  did  so  a  gentle  tapping 
upon  the  window  attracted  her  attention ;  and,  turning 
with  a  start  she  saw  the  face  of  a  man,  an  utter  stran- 
ger to  her,  pressed  against  the  pane  left  uncurtained 
for  Tabitha's  convenience,  and  looking  fixedly  at  her. 


THE  FRENCH  INVASION.  85 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  FRENCH  INVASION. 

IN  presence  of  real  danger  the  terrors  roused  by 
imagination  vanished  at  once ;  and  after  a  moment's 
steady  contemplation  of  her  unknown  foe  Molly  rose, 
and,  crossing  the  room  to  the  great  walnut-wood  sec- 
retary mentioned  by  her  father,  she  ostentatiously 
took  from  one  of  the  drawers  a  clumsy  pistol,  such  as 
was  then  in  vogue,  and,  placing  her  finger  upon  the 
trigger,  pointed  it  toward  the  window.  The  wild, 
white  face  was  not  withdrawn :  indeed,  a  faint  smile 
crossed  the  lips,  and  with  a  visible  effort  they  uttered 
the  one  word,  — 

"Bread!" 

Bread  !  It  was  a  history ;  it  was  an  explanation ; 
it  was  a  fiat.  The  man  who  demands  bread  at  the 
risk  of  his  life  must  be  in  that  extremity  of  need, 
which,  like  the  presence  of  death,  postpones  every 
other  consideration;  and  Molly's  brave  yet  tender 
heart  would  no  more  have  dreamed  of  refusing  such 
a  demand  than  of  deserting  her  father's  death-bed. 
She  threw  down  the  pistol,  and  turned  to  the  bounti- 
fully- sp-ead  table  lying  so  tantalizingly  before  the  eyes 
of  the  starving  man ;  then  pausing,  she  muttered  half 
aloud,  — 


86  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Drenched  and  shivering  !  He  will  die  out  there, 
and  yet "  — 

She  turned  empty-handed  to  the  window,  and,  un- 
buttoning it,  said  gently,  — 

"You  need  warmth  and  shelter  as  much  as  food. 
Come  round  to  that  door,  and  I  will  let  you  in ;  and 
when  you  are  dry  you  may  go  sleep  in  the  barn." 

The  wild  eyes  stared  up  in  her  face  uncomprehend- 
ingly ;  but  as  she  pointed  toward  the  door,  and  closed 
the  window,  the  dimly  seen  figure  moved  away,  and 
Mary  hastened  to  undo  the  door,  even  despite  a  gro- 
tesque terror  lest  a  troop  of  Frenchmen  might  be 
lurking  without,  and  rush  in  behind  this  poor,  starving 
wretch  who  probably  feared  them  as  much  as  she  did. 
As  she  lifted  the  latch  her  fears  seemed  verified ;  for 
with  a  swoop  and  a  howl  like  that  of  demons  or  of 
Sioux  warriors,  the  storm  rushed  down  upon  her,  tear- 
ing the  door  from  her  hand,  and  flinging  it  wide, 
scattering  the  fire  from  the  hearth,  and  so  rudely 
ruffling  Tabitha's  fur  that  she  set  up  her  back,  and 
spit,  then  slunk  away  with  flattened  ears  and  bristling 
tail,  to  hide  beneath  the  settle.  Molly,  in  spite  of  her 
lithe  strength,  staggered  aside  before  that  rude  onset, 
and  in  so  doing  escaped  a  worse  one ;  for  at  the  back 
of  the  blast,  hurled  like  a  stone  from  a  catapult,  came 
the  figure  of  a  man  who,  flung  forward  from  the  hands 
of  the  giant  without,  staggered  headlong,  and  fell  as  if 
dead  at  Molly's  feet.  But  at  first  she  did  not  heed 
him :  the  fierce  attack  of  the  storm  had  roused  the 
somewhat  sluggish  temper  that  had  carried  more  than 
one  of  her  yeoman  ancestors  to  the  fore-front  of  the 


THE  FRENCH  INVASION.  87 

fray,  there  to  die  if  need  be,  but  never  to  yield. 
Stepping  aside  from  the  prostrate  form,  Molly  went  to 
seize  the  shivering  door,  and  with  perhaps  unnecessary 
vigor  slam  it  in  the  face  cf  the  hooting  wind,  thrusting 
out  the  snow  that  would  have  prevented,  with  her 
feet.  Then,  slipping  the  stout  oaken  bar  into  its 
staples,  she  nodded  triumphantly,  and  ran  to  throw 
back  the  blazing  brands  lying  out  upon  the  floor. 
Finally,  as  the  renewed  blaze  sprang  cheerily  up, 
and  filled  the  room  with  light,  she  turned  to  examine 
this  waif  thrown  upon  her  hands  by  famine  and  storm. 
He  still  lay  as  he  had  fallen,  his  head  and  face  clearly 
visible  in  the  ruddy  light;  and  as  Molly  glanced  at 
them  a  sudden  misgiving  seized  her  mind :  Who  was 
this  whom  she  had  invited  beneath  that  lonely  roof,  to 
whom  she  herself  had  unbarred  the  safe-shut  door? 
this  man,  young,  handsome,  elegant,  as  she  never  had 
seen  man  before.  Miranda-like  she  noted  the  clear, 
fine  lines  of  every  feature,  the  tawny  gold  of  the 
thick-set  hair,  and  the  long  moustache  sweeping  below 
the  chin,  the  fine  teeth  gleaming  between  such  haughty 
lips,  and  the  white,  smooth  hand  with  its  great  ame 
thyst  ring. 

Had  a  stranger  such  as  this  come  to  Mary  Wilder's 
door  in  health  and  strength  asking  hospitality,  she 
would,  spite  of  storm  and  cold  and  hunger,  have 
told  him  in  her  calm  and  gentle  fashion  that  it  was 
quite  impossible  for  her  to  receive  him,  and  he  must 
go  on ;  but  now  —  here  he  was,  and  what  was  to  be 
done  but  feed  and  waim  and  help  him?  But  why 
did  he  not  move  ? 


88  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN 

At  this  point  of  her  perplexed  inspection,  Molly 
started  in  horror :  the  left  arm,  upon  which  the  sense* 
less  man  lay,  was  doubled  beneath  him  in  a  manner 
impossible  to  a  perfect  limb.  Surely  it  was  broken. 

Raising  the  head  and  shoulders  as  carefully  as 
possible,  and  resting  them  upon  her  knee,  Molly 
drew  out  and  straightened  the  wounded  member ;  but 
gently  as  she  did  it  the  pain  brought  consciousness, 
and  with  a  deep  groan  the  wounded  man  opened  his 
eyes,  and  after  some  wandering  regards  fixed  them  so 
piercingly  upon  the  young  girl's  face  that  she  colored 
deeply  as  she  said,  — 

"  You  are  very  much  hurt,  I  am  afraid,  sir." 

"  Pardonnez-moi,  mademoiselle :  je  suis  f&che " 

murmured  the  stranger ;  and  then  his  voice  trailed  off 
in  an  inarticulate  murmur,  and  he  was  again  insensible. 
These  few  words,  however,  had  told  the  story,  and 
completed  the  discomfiture  of  Molly's  mind.  The 
Frenchmen  had  come  indeed ;  and  this,  chief  perhaps 
of  a  band  of  desperate  marauders,  was  lying  here  in 
the  midst  of  her  own  kitchen,  —  nay,  his  head  upon  her 
knee.  A  thrill  of  mingled  terror  and  excitement  not 
altogether  unpleasant  sped  along  Molly's  unused 
nerves,  and  sent  a  deep  flush  to  her  cheek ;  then  laying 
the  handsome  head  gently  upon  the  floor  she  went  to 
fetch  a  cushion  to  place  beneath  it,  murmuring,  — 

"  I  must  not  let  him  die  though  he  be  my  enemy ; 
and  my  two  arms  are  sound,  thank  God,  and  his  is 
broken." 

Then  from  her  mother's  cupboard  she  brought  the 
bottle  of  strong  waters,  never  used  save  in  times  of 


THE  FRENCH  INVASION.  89 

need,  the  hartshorn,  the  camphor,  the  flannels  for  rub- 
bing, and  all  the  simple  arcana  of  domestic  remedies 
which  every  skilful  housewife  of  those  days  kept  on 
hand,  and  well  knew  how  to  apply.  Under  this  treat- 
ment the  scattered  senses  once  more  returned,  and  the 
bold  blue  eyes  again  fastened  curiously  upon  the 
girl's  face,  bending  over  him,  and  continued  to  watch 
her  as  she  went  to  warm  some  broth  left  from  dinner. 

"  It's  lucky  I  didn't  give  you  any  more  of  it, 
Tabby,"  whispered  she,  as  the  cat  rubbed  appealingly 
against  her  feet,  and  the  Frenchman,  with  a  faint 
smile,  added, — 

"  Non,  Minon,  non  /  " 

"Here  is  some  broth.  Shall  I  feed  you?"  asked 
Molly,  sitting  down  upon  the  floor  beside  her  patient, 
who  replied  by  opening  his  mouth;  so,  raising  his 
head  again  upon  her  arm,  she  gravely  and  deftly  pro- 
ceeded to  administer  the  food,  which  her  patient  re- 
ceived with  both  the  eagerness  of  starvation  and  the 
restraint  of  civilization. 

As  she  laid  him  back  upon  the  cushion  a  frown  of 
pain  contracted  the  brows ;  and,  glancing  down  at  the 
wounded  limb,  he  muttered  some  words  in  French, 
and  then,  turning  to  Molly,  slowly  said,  — 

"  Man  arm,  it  is  to  break." 

"  Your  arm  is  broken  ?  Yes  :  I  am  very  sorry,  and 
yet  more  sorry  that  I  know  not  how  to  help  you," 
replied  Molly  sadly,  her  ready  sympathy  entirely  re- 
pressing her  somewhat  dormant  sense  of  humor.  Th« 
stranger  shook  his  head  impatiently  at  finding  himself 
unable  to  understand  her  fluent  speech,  and  th<!n, 


90  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

silently  moving  his  lips  for  some  moments  as  if  con- 
ning some  half-forgotten  lesson,  he  said  in  the  same 
slow  fashion,  — 

"  I  am  doctor,  me.  I  can  to  make  whole  tne  arm 
the  men  to  break." 

"  You  are  a  doctor,  and  can  set  broken  arms  for 
people,  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Molly  slowly.  "  But  can 
you  set  your  own?  This  one?"  touching  it  as  she 
spoke.  The  stranger  listened  eagerly,  and  with  a 
smile,  brilliant  even  through  its  wanness,  replied,  — 

"Yes.  To  set,  it  is  true.  I  do  know  so  few  Eng- 
lish." 

"  So  little  English,"  corrected  Molly,  smiling  in  re- 
turn; and  from  that  moment  the  two  began  in  the 
freemasonry  of  youth  and  necessity  and  mutual  liking 
to  invent  a  language,  half  very,  very  poor  English, 
half  signs  and  looks  and  inflections  of  voice,  a  little 
dashed  with  French  whose  meaning  Molly  guessed, 
and  largely  tinctured  with  that  sort  of  magnetism  by 
which  some  persons  comprehend  each  other,  they 
know  not  how. 

In  some  one  or  in  all  of  these  ways  the  stranger 
soon  made  Molly  comprehend  that  the  broken  arm 
must  be  attended  to  without  further  delay,  and  that 
splints,  bandages,  and  other  matters  were  to  be  pro- 
vided ;  and  Molly  understood  and  obeyed  all  with  a 
quick  intelligence,  delighting  her  patient,  who  told 
her  in  excellent  French  that  she  should  have  been  a 
Sister  of  Mercy  upon  a  field  of  battle.  Molly,  per- 
ceiving at  a  glance  that  this  speech  was  a  mere  matter 
of  expression,  and  not  of  direction,  simply  smiled  in 


THE  FRENCH  INVASION.  9! 

reply,  and  went  on  splitting  pieces  off  a  bit  of  planed 
board  by  means  of  a  sharp  little  hatchet,  which  her 
guest  presently  remarked  in  French  would  have  made 
a  far  more  efficient  weapon  in  her  hands  than  the 
pistol  with  which  she  had  threatened  him. 

Merely  nodding  her  head  good-humoredly  at  this 
second  address  without  meaning  to  her  ears,  Molly 
proceeded  to  tear  some  strips  from  an  old  linen  sheet, 
and  to  lay  out  some  pins,  a  basin  of  warm  water,  soft 
towels,  and  finally,  with  a  look  of  inquiry,  to  pour 
some  of  the  Holland  gin  into  a  glass,  and  set  it 
beside  the  other  matters. 

"  Yes,  my  child,  it  will  very  likely  be  wanted,  for 
this  will  be  no  painless  matter,"  muttered  the  young 
man  in  his  own  language,  as  he  sat  upright  in  the 
easy-chair  where  he  had  hitherto  reclined,  and  began 
to  try  to  pull  off  his  coat.  Molly  gravely  and  mod- 
estly proffered  her  help,  and  by  slitting  the  sleeve  of 
the  broken  arm  from  wrist  to  shoulder,  the  garment 
was  removed ;  the  waistcoat  came  more  easily ;  then 
the  young  man  with  his  right  hand  untied  and  re- 
moved his  cravat,  unbuttoned  his  shirt  at  the  neck, 
and  looked  at  Molly,  who  blushed  scarlet,  but  steadily 
stood  waiting  to  perform  the  services  nobody  else  was 
there  to  render. 

"  Unefille  brave  et  pure  commc  un  angc"  said  the 
doctor,  rebuttoning  his  collar;  and  then  pointing  to 
the  scissors  upon  the  table,  he  gestured  to  Molly  that 
she  should  cut  away  the  sleeve  of  the  shirt  without 
removing  the  garment;  she  did  it  at  once,  and  the 
wounded  limb  was  laid  bare.  Molly  uttered  a  little 


92 


A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN 


cry  of  dismay,  for  the  bone  had  in  one  place  pro- 
truded through  the  flesh,  and  the  whole  arm  was 
bruised  and  wounded  cruelly. 

"Yes,  it  is  to  look  sick,"  said  the  doctor,  noticing 
her  consternation.  "The  vessel  went  to  wreck  itself 
above  the  rocks.  I  in  the  water.  The  water  so 
strong,  so  terrible,  to  hurl  one  into  the  rocks.  My 
arm  to  go  between  this  and  that  rock ;  the  water  to 
hurl  me  again,  and  my  arm  to  stay  there.  What  mar- 
vel that  it  broke  me?" 

His  animated  gestures,  voice,  and  eyes  made  mean- 
ing of  his  oddly-chosen  words;  and  Mary  compre- 
hended all,  and  replied  softly,  — 

"  God  was  very  good  to  bring  you  alive  out  of  such 
peril." 

"God,  —  le  bon  Dieu,  —  yes  1  He  is  good  al 
ways,"  replied  the  other,  bending  his  head  devoutly, 
while  Mary  began  softly  to  wipe  away  the  crusted 
blood  from  the  edges  of  the  wound.  The  patient 
watched  her  movements  attentively,  and  said  to  him- 
self half  aloud,  — 

"  A  good  nurse,  a  capital  little  nurse,  but  will  she 
endure  seeing  the  operation?  She  will  lose  her  head 
when  she  hears  the  bones  grate  against  each  other, 
and  then  —  Oh  for  one  of  my  old  comrades  of  the 
hospital,  or  even  my  dear  abb£  !  Where  is  he  now, 
I  wonder?  Food  for  fishes,  or  prisoner  to  those  dogs 
of  Englishmen?" 

He  ground  his  teeth,  and  Molly  thought  it  was  in 
pain. 

"Do  I  hurt  you?    Do  I  touch  you  too  roughly?" 


THE  FRENCH  INVASION.  93 

asked  she  gently ;  and  the  courteous  stranger  smiled 
re-assuringly  into  her  face  as  he  replied,  — 

"  Hurt  me  ?  Oh,  never,  never  !  It  is  you  who  are 
my  good  angel !  " 

"And  now  what  next?"  asked  Molly,  completing 
her  task  a  little  hastily,  for  these  words  were  English 
without  need  of  an  interpreter. 

The  doctor  looked  at  his  arm,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  It  will  be  difficult,  it  will  be  painful,"  said  he  in 
French.  "  She  cannot  do  it,  I  will  not  ask  it :  I  must 
try  for  myself." 

He  looked  about  him,  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  one 
of  the  iron  staples  used  to  secure  the  bar  across  the 
door ;  then,  partly  by  motions,  partly  by  broken  lan- 
guage, he  instructed  Molly  to  cut  a  strong  band  of 
linen,  to  tie  it  securely  around  the  wrist  of  the 
wounded  arm,  and  finally  to  loop  it  over  the  staple. 
Then  with  patient  iteration  and  pantomime,  he  made 
her  understand  that  so  soon  as  the  bone  was  pulled 
into  place,  whether  he  was  insensible  or  not,  she  was 
to  apply  the  splints  and  the  bandages  in  the  manner 
already  explained  to  her,  and  secure  them  in  place 
before  attending  to  any  thing  else.  . 

Molly,  very  pale,  but  bright-eyed  and  resolute,  nod- 
ded comprehension,  and  watched  as  the  loop  of  linen 
was  laid  over  the  staple ;  and  the  practised  surgeon, 
manipulating  the  wounded  arm  with  his  right  hand, 
began  steadily  to  draw  upon  it,  while  great  beads  of 
anguish  stood  out  upon  his  brow,  and  his  teeth  ground 
together  in  agony ;  then  came  the  horrible  grating  of 
the  fractured  bone,  and  then  the  snap  as  the  ends 
suddenly  fitted  into  place. 


94  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"Les  eclisses,  —  the  wood  ! "  murmured  the  patient, 
sinking  into  the  chair  Molly  had  pushed  close  behind 
him. 

'  Yes ;  I  understand ;  drink  a  sip  of  this  to  keep 
yoj  from  fainting,  and  I  will  bind  it  up,"  said  she, 
holding  the  glass  to  his  pallid  lips. 

A  few  moments  later  the  arm  was  properly  secured 
and  safely  slung  in  one  of  Humphrey  Wilder 's  great 
silk  handkerchiefs ;  and  then  Mary  opened  the  door 
of  the  bedroom,  prepared  the  bed,  and,  coming  back 
to  her  half-fainting  patient,  she  took  his  right  arm,  laid 
it  about  her  own  Juno-like  shoulders,  and  slowly  rising, 
half  lifted  him  to  his  feet,  put  her  arm  around  his 
waist,  and  so  led  him  to  the  bed  and  laid  him  upon  it. 
Then  she  drew  off  his  soaked  and  ragged  boots  and 
stockings,  brought  a  jug  of  hot  water,  and  placed  at 
his  feet,  covered  him  warmly,  and  bending  above  him, 
as  a  mother  might  above  her  child,  softly  said,  "  Good- 
night !  Our  Father  keep  and  help  you  1 " 

Then  closing  the  door,  she  went  to  sit  beside  the 
fire,  and  cry  her  pure  eyes  almost  blind  in  maiden 
shame  and  loneliness. 


THE  ROSY  DA  WN.  95 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  ROSY  DAWN. 

IN  the  gray  light  of  the  next  morning  Molly  Wilder 
roused  herself  from  an  uneasy  sleep  upon  the  set- 
tle beside  the  fire,  smouldered  now  into  a  heap  of 
warm  ashes,  within  whose  confines  Tabitha  crouched, 
purring  sleepily,  her  head  upon  her  folded  paws.  For 
a  few  moments  the  young  girl  lay  staring  about  her, 
wondering  at  her  strange  situation,  and  vaguely  recall- 
ing events  so  romantic  and  so  utterly  foreign  to  her 
usual  life  that  at  first  she  mingled  them  with  her 
dreams ;  but  when  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  coat  hang- 
ing over  a  chair  beside  the  hearth,  the  litter  of  ban- 
dages and  splints  upon  the  table,  and  the  linen  band 
still  hanging  from  the  staple,  the  whole  scene  of  the 
previous  night  returned  upon  her ;  and,  springing  to 
her  feet,  she  went  at  once  to  peep  in  at  her  patient. 

He  slept,  but  uneasily,  for  rising  fever  already 
tinged  his  cheeks  and  parched  his  lips ;  and,  while 
Molly  bent  over  him,  he  turned  his  head,  moaned 
heavily,  and  muttered  some  words  of  which  she  only 
distinguished  the  name,  "  Valerie  ! " 

"  It  will  be  the  name  of  his  sweetheart,  no  doubt," 
said  Molly  to  herself  with  a  little  pang  of  novel  pain ; 
ai«d  still  she  stood  reading  the  unconscious  face,  and 


96  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN 

wondering  if  in  the  great  world  she  had  never  seen, 
there  were  more  men  as  noble,  as  handsome,  as  charm- 
ing of  manner,  as  this  waif,  so  strangely  cast  by  the 
waves  at  her  very  door,  and  yet  not  for  her,  but  this 
Valerie,  whoever  she  might  be ;  and  she  wondered  if 
Valerie,  in  her  far-off  stately  home,  would  ever  know 
and  be  grateful  to  humble  Mary  Wilder,  the  colonial 
farmer's  daughter,  who  had  nursed  her  lover  back  to 
life  when  else  he  might  have  perished. 

From  these  unprofitable  musings  she  was  roused  by 
a  knock  upon  the  outer  door,  so  loud  as  to  break  the 
light  slumber  of  the  invalid,  whose  eyes  flew  open  with 
a  look  of  ready  alarm. 

"  Be  still,  be  very  quiet ;  make  no  noise,  for  your 
life  ! "  exclaimed  Molly  in  a  low  and  impressive  voice ; 
and  then,  running  on  tiptoe  into  the  kitchen,  she  col- 
lected every  article  belonging  to  or  betraying  the  pres- 
ence of  the  stranger,  and  bringing  them  into  the  bed- 
room threw  them  down  upon  a  chair,  and  closed  the 
door.  By  this  time  the  knock  was  repeated  louder 
and  longer  than  before.  Molly  glanced  about  the 
room,  arranged  her  own  dress  a  little,  and  went  to 
open  the  door.  A  middle-aged  man,  with  a  round 
foolish  face,  set  in  a  hay-colored  beard  just  now  full 
of  icicles,  stood  upon  the  step,  stamping,  and  slapping 
his  hands,  covered  with  great  striped  yarn  mittens  of 
Deborah  Wilder's  manufacture ;  for  this  was  Amariah 
Coffin,  the  Wilders'  hired  man,  and  a  privileged  mem- 
ber of  the  household.  Molly,  who  had  feared  Reu- 
ben Hetherford,  or  some  messenger  from  that  family, 
greeted  the  alternative  with  relief. 


THE  ROSY  DA  WN.  97 

"Good-morning,  Amariah !  when  did  you  get 
home?" 

"Just  now.  Your  mother  was  so  scared  at  the 
arind  last  night,  that  she  sent  me  off  as  soon  as  the 
horse  was  rested.  I  suppose  she  thought  I  could 
hold  the  roof  on,  or  talk  to  the  pigs  and  stop  their 
squealing :  they  always  have  such  a  lot  to  say  when 
the  wind  blows;  some  folks  think  it's  because  the 
devils  were  sent  into  them,  and  the  old  gentleman  is 
always  busy  in  a  gale  of  wind." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  would  like  some  breakfast 
pretty  soon,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Bless  your  heart,  no,  child  !  didn't  you  know  I 
was  to  board  over  to  Hetherford's  while  the  folks  are 
gone  ?  Surely  your  ma'am  told  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  !  I  had  forgotten."  And  Molly  blushed 
scarlet  at  her  own  pre-occupation  of  thought;  but 
Amariah  was  already  building  up  the  fire,  and  did  not 
notice  her  confusion,  as  he  went  on  to  say,  — 

"  No :  what  I  want  is  to  make  some  warm  porridge 
for  the  lambs,  and  get  whatever  you  have  for  the  pigs. 
If  the  hens'  victuals  are  ready,  I'll  carry  that  out  too, 
for  it's  kind  of  snowy  for  you." 

An  odd  feeling  of  annoyance  crept  over  the  young 
girl's  mind  as  these  homely  details  of  her  daily  life 
were  pressed  upon  it,  and  she  glanced  unconsciously 
at  the  bedroom  door  as  dreading  lest  they  should 
penetrate  within  it ;  but  in  the  next  moment  she  took 
herself  severely  to  task,  and  a  feeling  of  honest  shame 
at  her  momentary  treason  sent  the  blood  again  to  her 
cheeks. 


98  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

Yes,  these  matters  of  lambs  and  pigs  and  poultry 
were  her  life,  and  her  father's  and  mother's  lives ;  and 
she  was  not  going  to  disown  them  for  all  the  hand- 
some shipwrecked  gentlemen  the  waves  could  ever 
bring  to  her.  No  doubt  "Valerie "  was  a  dainty  lady 
who-  had  never  heard  of  such  vulgar  details,  but  that 
was  not  her  affair.  She  should  do  her  duty  by  this 
wounded  man,  nurse  him  and  shelter  him,  and,  when 
he  was  weU,  help  him  to  escape  from  Reuben  Hether- 
ford,  and  all  the  other  cowards  who  would  betray  and 
sell  him,  and  then  he  would  go  back  to  his  Valerie ; 
and  she  —  well,  at  least,  she  never  could  be  forced  to 
marry  Reuben  Hetherford. 

Amariah's  rough  voice  broke  in  upon  her  revery 
with  a  laugh.  "Well,  Molly,  I  should  think  it  was 
shearing-time  by  the  way  your  wits  are  wool-gathering. 
Where's  Mercy  Hetherford,  I  say?" 

"  Oh  !  she  didn't  come ;  or  rather,  she  didn't  stay ; " 
and  then  Molly  hurriedly  explained  the  occurrence 
of  the  previous  night,  while  Amariah,  who  took  a 
fatherly  interest  in  all  affairs  of  the  child  who  had 
grown  into  womanhood  under  his  eyes,  listened  atten- 
tively, one  hand  shading  his  face  from  the  leaping 
flame,  while  with  the  other  he  mechanically  stirred  the 
porridge  for  his  lambs,  his  goggling  blue  eyes  fixed 
upon  Molly's  face. 

"  Sho  ! "  exclaimed  he  at  last :  "  now  the  fat's  all  in 
the  fire;  and  won't  ma'am  be  mad  when  she  gets 
home  and  finds  what  a  spot  of  work  you've  cut  out  for 
her?  Did  you  tell  Reuben  up  and  down  you  wouldn't 
have  him?" 


THE  ROSY  DA  WN.  99 

"No  matter  about  that.  All  is,  Mercy  won't  be 
here  to  sleep  or  to  help  me,  and  I  don't  want  you  to 
ask  any  of  them  to  come.  I'm  not  at  all  afraid  of 
being  alone  six  days." 

"  'Cause,  if  you  did,"  pursued  Amariah  sturdily,  "  I 
shall  tell  him  not  to  take  you  at  your  word  till  after 
your  mother  gets  home.  She'll  fix  it." 

"  Amariah  !  Don't  you  dare  to  say  such  a  word  to 
Reuben  Hetherford,  or  to  say  any  thing  about  me  in 
any  way.  It  is  surely  no  concern  of  yours." 

"  No  consarn  of  mine,  when  I  used  to  drag  you 
both  on  one  sled,  and  take  you  both  up  on  Dobbin, 
and — O  Gee  —  rusalem  !  " 

This  final  exclamation  was  not,  as  might  be  sup- 
posed,  the  result  of  injured  feeling  on  the  old  man's 
part,  but  of  a  great  spatter  of  boiling  porridge, 
launched  from  the  unwatched  kettle  upon  his  wrist, 
and  inflicting  a  burn  painful  enough  to  absorb  all  his 
attention  for  some  moments.  Molly,  thankful  for  any 
change  in  the  conversation,  busied  herself  in  spread- 
ing some  of  her  mother's  simple  salve  upon  a  cloth, 
and  binding  up  the  wrist  as  cleverly,  if  not  as  tremu- 
lously, as  she  had  done  the  broken  arm  of  the  previous 
night.  Amariah  submitted  gratefully,  and,  when  it  was 
finished,  said, — 

"  There,  now  !  That's  better  than  new.  You're  a 
master-hand  at  comforting  a  fellow's  hurts,  Molly,  and 
I'll  do  as  much  for  you  some  day." 

"  Do  it  to-day,  by  promising  not  to  speak  of  me  tc 
Reuben  Hetherford,  or  to  any  of  the  Hetherfords,'1 
said  Molly,  so  quickly  that  Amariah  laughed  aloud. 


100  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"Short  accounts  make  long  friends,  you  say," 
chuckled  he.  "Well,  I'm  a  man  of  my  word,  and 
it's  a  bargain.  Blow  the  horn  if  you  want  any  thing. 
I'll  come  and  shovel  the  paths,  and  draw  some  water, 
after  I've  done  my  milking  and  got  my  breakfast." 
And  with  this  brief  valedictory,  Amariah  took  his 
bucket  of  mush,  and  went  out  to  the  barn.  Molly 
slipped  the  bolt  upon  the  outside  door,  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  hastened  back  to  her  patient.  She  found 
him  wide  awake  and  very  feverish. 

"Is  it  the  English  to  prisoner  me?"  demanded  he, 
catching  Molly's  hand  in  his  burning  fingers,  and 
grasping  it  painfully. 

"  No,  no,"  replied  she  soothingly,  "  it  is  a  friend  : 
we  are  all  friends  to  you,  and  will  prove  ourselves  so. 
You  are  quite  safe  here,  and  I  will  care  for  you." 

"  Foi  de  —  what  name  are  you,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  Mary,  Mary  Wilder,  and  your  friend." 

"  Marie,  nom  de  la  sainte  vierge,  nom  de  lafoi,  nom 
beletbon! 

"And  what  may  I  call  you,  my  friend?"  asked 
Molly,  interrupting  the  feverish  murmurings  with  her 
cool,  clear  voice,  like  a  breath  of  morning  air  pene- 
trating the  close,  warm  room  of  an  invalid. 

"  To  call  me,  say  you,  Marie,"  replied  the  stranger, 
fixing  his  burning  eyes  upon  her  face.  "They .call  me 
Francois  le  baron  —  mais  non,  non  I  je  riai  pas  de 
nom,  de  la  fatrie,  ou  des  amis  "  — 

"Francois,  did  you  say?"  asked  Mary  again,  as 
she  drew  her  hand  from  the  detaining  fingers,  and 
smoothed  the  hair  from  the  scorching  brow.  "  Well, 


THE  ROSY  DAWN.  IOI 

then,  Francois,  try  to  believe  that  Mary  will  protect 
you,  and  care  for  you  until  you  are  well,  and  keep 
yourself  just  as  quiet  and  peaceful  as  you  can.  Do 
you  understand,  do  you  believe?" 

"I  believe  in  Marie,  la  sainte  Marie,"  murmured 
Francois  dreamily;  and  Molly  softly  went  into  the 
outer  room  to  prepare  such  simple  food  as  she  knew 
was  best  for  him,  to  contrive  means  for  his  comfort 
and  security,  and  to  go  about  her  own  homely  duties, 
wondering  the  while  at  the  strange  new  joy  and  light 
that  had  come  into  her  life,  transforming  its  dull 
monotony  into  an  absorbing  romance,  and  all  at  once 
enlarging  its  horizon,  as  if  from  a  narrow  valley  she 
had  climbed  some  sun-clad  height,  and  found  an  un- 
known world  lying  at  her  feet,  bathed  in  the  glory  of 
that  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  shore. 


102  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  DAGGER  OF  REGINALD  DE  MONTARNAUD. 

THE  day  went  busily  on.  About  noon,  Amariah 
having  dug  a  series  of  artistic  paths  in  various 
directions,  swept  the  snow  from  the  wood-pile  and 
chip-yard,  drawn  fresh  water,  and  made  the  circuit 
of  the  house  to  see  that  all  looked  as  it  should, 
came  into  the  kitchen  to  warm  his  hands,  and  have  a 
word  with  Molly,  who  received  him  less  cordially  than 
usual,  fearing  that  some  sound  from  the  bedroom 
might  betray  the  presence  of  her  charge,  whose  in- 
creasing fever  rendered  him  restless  and  talkative. 
Fortunately,  Amariah,  being  subject  to  earache  in  cold 
weather,  had  tied  a  red  knitted  comforter  over  the  top 
of  his  head  and  under  his  chin ;  and  while  this  gar- 
ment no  doubt  added  to  his  personal  beauty,  it  seri- 
ously impeded  his  powers  of  hearing  and  his  quickness 
of  movement. 

"  Say,  Molly,"  began  he,  after  a  brief  account  of  the 
condition  of  matters  under  his  charge  at  the  barn  and 
elsewhere,  "have  you  heard  any  thing  about  those 
Frenchers  that  are  lurking  round  Falmouth?" 

"  Reuben  Hetherford  said  something  about  it,"  re- 
plied Molly  carelessly.  "  Has  he  found  them  yet?  " 

"No;  but  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  did,  for  he's 


THE  DAGGER   OF  DE  MONTARNAUD.      IOJ 

looking  everywhere.  He  came  over  to  our  barn  this 
morning,  and  hunted  the  mows  as  if  he  was  looking 
for  a  stolen  nest." 

"He  did?  I  wonder  at  his  impudence,  then  !  If 
he  comes  again  I  wish  you  would  tell  him  that  while 
my  father  is  away  I  am  in  charge  of  his  property,  and 
that  I  don't  allow  any  intrusions.  Mind  now,  Amariah, 
I  mean  it ;  and  I  won't  have  Reuben  Hetherford  or 
any  one  else  peeping  and  prying  round  the  place." 

"Sho,  Molly,  what's  got  into  you  to  flare  up  that 
way  about  a  trifle  ?  I  don't  seem  to  know  you  to-day. 
I  expect  it's  all  along  of  getting  mad  with  Reuben 
yesterday.  Well,  well,  there's  three  things  a  wise  man 
can't  understand,  and  one  of  'em  is,  the  way  of  a  man 
with  a  maid ;  but  so  fur  as  I  see,  the  way  of  a  maid 
with  a  man  is  contrarier  yet.  But  say,  Molly,  I 
shouldn't  so  much  wonder  if  one  of  them  'ere  fellows 
was  somewhere  round  these  parts,  after  all.  I  wouldn't 
say  it  to  scare  ye,  but  I  do  wish  that  you'd  go  over  to 
Hetherford's  for  the  nights.  I'd  feel  a  heap  safer 
about  ye." 

"  What  makes  you  think  anybody  is  about  here  ?  " 
asked  Molly,  turning  pale,  and  sitting  down  suddenly. 

"  There,  now,  you're  scared ;  and  that  was  just  what 
\  didn't  mean  to  do.  Tain't  nothing,  child,  but "  — 

"  Yes,  it  is,  Amariah,  and  I  want  to  know  what.  I 
am  not  at  all  frightened,  but  it  is  right  that  while 
father  is  away  I  should  be  told  of  every  thing  that 
happens  about  the  place.  Tell  me,  please." 

There  was  an  air  of  quiet  authority  in  her  voice 
that  penetrated  through  the  red  comforter  even  to  the 


IO4  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

old  man's  dull  brain ;  and  he  looked  in  some  surprise  £t 
the  handsome  woman  standing  tall  and  straight  before 
him,  realizing,  perhaps  for  the  first  time,  how  far  she 
was  removed  from  the  little  child  whom  he  had 
coaxed,  or  frightened,  or  spoiled,  or  laughed  at,  a  few 
years  before.  For  a  moment  or  two  he  said  nothing ; 
but  when  he  did  speak  it  was  in  an  altered  voice  :  — 

"Well,  the  fact  is,  Mistress  Mary,  that  I  saw  foot- 
steps round  the  well  this  morning  that  must  have  been 
made  after  the  snow  fell  last  night.  Now,  I  don't 
suppose  you  went  out  there ;  and  there  was  nobody  else 
in  the  house,  you  say." 

"  The  wind  blowing  all  night  would  have  filled  them 
up  if  they  had  been  made  before  morning.  Probably 
some  one  going  by  stopped  to  drink,  or  else  "  — 

"They  was  made  last  night,  and  the  water  being 
spilt  round  the  places  froze  right  up ;  and  when  I 
swept  off  the  light  snow  this  morning,  there  they  was. 
They  was  made  in  the  first  part  of  the  storm  last 
night." 

"Well,  is  that  all?" 

The  question  was  abrupt  and  impatient.  We  who 
know  all,  can  understand  that  the  girl's  nerves  were 
sharpened  and  alert  to  discover  the  extent  of  her 
danger  as  speedily  as  possible;  but  Amariah  only 
thought  her  peremptory  and  ill-natured,  and  answered 
dryly,  - 

"No,  it  ain't  all.  When  I  looked  round  the  barn 
after  daylight,  I  saw  plain  enough  that  some  one  had 
been  there  since  I  left  yesterday  morning." 

"  Of  course  there  had.  Reuben  Hetherford  put  up 
his  horse  last  night." 


THE  DAGGER  OF  DE  MONTARNAUD.      1 05 

"  I  know  he  did.  But  it  ain't  very  likely  Reuben 
Hetherford  raked  down  a  lot  of  hay  off  the  mow,  and 
made  a  sort  of  bed  in  one  of  the  empty  stalls,  and, 
when  he'd  done  with  it,  kicked  it  under  the  oxen's 
feet  and  left  it  there.  Now,  who  but  a  Frencher 
vould  suppose  I  bedded  down  my  cattle  with  good 
English  hay?  Tell  me  that,  will  you?  " 

"Very  likely  father  did  it  in  his  hurry  of  going 
away,  or  perhaps  Reuben  threw  it  down,  and  the  oxen 
got  it  under  their  feet,  or  "  — 

"  Well,  then,  '  Mary,  Mary,  quite  contrary,'  "  ex- 
claimed the  old  man  in  a  passion,  "  what  will  you  say 
to  the  knife  I  found  in  that  stall?  A  thing  such  as 
murderers  and  house-breakers  and  Frenchers  carry  in 
their  pockets  to  kill  innocent  folk  in  their  beds  !  A 
knife  with  crinkle-crankles  all  over  the  blade,  and  a 
handle  all  fixed  off  with  gold,  and  topped  with  a  cross 
—  a  regular  Papist  cross  —  such  as  drove  us  all  out  of 
merry  England  to  this  savage  country,  where  you  can't 
so  much  as  get  a  crop  of  barley  off  the  sand  and 
rocks  they  call  land." 

"  Did  you  really  find  such  a  knife,  Amariah?  "  asked 
Molly  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,  I  did,  child;  and  though  I  wouldn't  have 
scared  you  by  telling  of  it  if  you  hadn't  been  so  pro- 
voking with  your  perhapses  and  perhapses,  I'm  kind 
of  glad  the  cat's  out  of  the  bag,  after  all ;  for  now  I 
reckon  you'll  have  some  sense,  and  go  over  to  "  — 

"  Where  is  that  knife  ?    Show  it  to  me." 

"  I  hain't  got  it :  you'll  have  to  take  my  word  for 
it ;  and  I  haven't  generally  been  called  a  liar." 


106  A   NAMELESS 

"  You  haven't  got  it !    Where  is  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Reuben  Hetherford  can  tell  if  you're  o'  mind  to 
ask  him  about  it." 

"  O  Amariah  !  have  you  given  it  to  him  ?  " 

"Why,  yes.  What's  got  into  you,  child?  I  don't 
know  you  for  the  same  since  your  folks  went  away." 

"But  what  for?  Tell  me  all  about  it,  do,  good 
Amariah  !  tell  me  the  wnole  story." 

"  Well,  if  you  won't  be  so  scared,  and  look  so  white. 
Lor,  child,  you  ain't  so  growed-up  now  as  you  was  a 
while  ago.  There,  set  down  in  your  little  chair,  and 
I'll  tell  you ;  though,  come  to  think  of  it,  there  ain't 
such  a  sight  more  to  tell.  I  found  the  thing,  a  dagger 
they  call  it,  I  believe,  in  the  stall  where  they  had  laid 
down  for  a  sleep ;  and  when  they  went  away  one  of 
'em  dropped  it  I  expect.  So  when  I  went  over  to 
breakfast,  I  carried  it  along,  and  showed  it  to  Reub ; 
and  he  was  dreadful  worked  up  about  it,  thinking 
he'd  catch  the  fellow  right  off,  and  get  the  bounty,  — 
twenty  dollars,  you  know.  And  so  he  asked  me  to  let 
him  take  it,  and  I  did ;  and  as  soon  as  breakfast  was 
over,  he  came  over  and  searched  our  barn,  and  then 
he  rode  off  post-haste,  and  says  he'll  track  the  feller 
twenty  mile  but  what  he'll  find  him." 

The  story  finished,  Amariah  began  slowly  to  button 
himself  into  his  great  frieze  coat,  and  to  draw  on  the 
monstrous  mittens  which  had  been  sedulously  toasted 
during  his  stay  upon  the  spears  of  the  great  iron  and- 
irons. Mary  sat  in  her  little  chair  mute  and  white ; 
her  hands  tightly  locked  upon  her  knee,  her  eyes 
bteadfastly  regarding  the  foolish  round  face  of  the  old 


THE  DAGGER   OF  DE  MONTARNAUD.       1 07 

man.  She  was  considering  how  far  it  was  best  to  trust 
him,  and  whether  he  might  prove  a  valuable  ally.  She 
knew  his  fondness  for  herself,  and  his  honesty  and 
singleness  of  heart ;  but  she  also  knew  how  incompetent 
his  simple  nature  was  to  cope  with  the  cunning  and 
determination  of  Reuben  Hetherford's,  and  she  deter- 
mined not  to  trust  him,  for  the  present  at  least 

So  Amariah,  much  to  his  discontent,  found  himself 
allowed  to  depart  with  no  token  of  relenting  upon  the 
part  of  his  young  mistress  in  the  Hetherford  direction ; 
and  Molly  shot  the  bolt  behind  him,  and  flew  back  to 
the  bedside  of  her  patient  with  the  feeling  of  mingled 
relief  and  terror  of  a  mother-bird  who  sees  the  preda- 
tory urchin  pass  by  her  nest,  and  knows  not  when  he 
may  return  and  rifle  it. 

Francois  looked  up  at  her  with  haggard  eyes. 

"  He  is  burned  in  a  fire ;  he  is  too  tight,"  murmured 
he  plaintively.  Mary  read  his  meaning  by  intuition. 

"  Your  poor  arm  is  too  tightly  bandaged  ! "  ex- 
claimed she.  "  That  is  soon  set  to  rights.  O  Fran- 
cois !  I  will  do  a  great  deal  before  I  let  them  take 
you." 

He  did  not  understand  the  words,  but  he  did  the 
tone,  and  gratefully  murmured  in  his  own  language,  — 

"  It  is  an  angel  sent  by  the  good  God  to  care  for 
me.  Not  a  woman, — women  are  false  and  cruel, — 
women  are  Valerie." 

She  heard  the  name :  she  could  not  know  in  what 
connection  it  was  spoken,  and  a  sharp  pain  ran  through 
her  heart,  and  blanched  her  lips. 

"  Never  mind  ! "  murmured  she,  "  I  will  nurse  you 


IO8  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

and  care  for  you,  and  defend  you  with  my  own  life  if 
need  be ;  and  when  all  is  done  you  shall  go  and  b< 
happy  with  your  Valerie." 

The  arm  was  cooled  and  bound  up,  the  feverish 
face  and  neck  softly  bathed,  the  yellow  hair,  so  strong 
and  thickset  that  it  seemed  more  like  golden  wire 
than  hair,  reduced  to  order,  even  the  long  moustaches 
combed  and  arranged,  and  then  Mary  stood  looking 
and  meditating.  Fastidious  neatness  was  part  of  her 
religion,  both  natural  and  revealed :  besides  this,  she 
was  an  excellent  nurse ;  and  neither  a  neat  woman  nor 
a  good  nurse  would  voluntarily  select  a  very  soiled  and 
tattered  shirt  and  a  pair  of  military  trowsers  as  the  best 
and  most  comfortable  costume  for  an  invalid ;  but  how 
was  she  to  remedy  the  matter? 

She  went  to  the  great  chest-of-drawers  at  the  end 
of  the  bedroom,  and  took  out  one  of  her  father's 
capacious  and  comfortable  vestments,  carried  it  into 
the  kitchen,  and  hung  it  over  the  back  of  a  chair  in 
front  of  the  fire ;  standing  beside  it  she  looked  down 
at  Tabitha,  who  was  just  awakening  from  a  nap,  and 
softly  said,  — 

"You'd  do  it,  Tabby,  wouldn't  you?"  And  then 
covering  her  face  in  both  her  hands,  she  stood  quiet  a 
moment,  and  whispered  to  herself,  — 

"  It  is  nought  but  selfishness  to  count  the  cost  wl  en 
one  may  help  a  sick  and  wounded  man.  It  is  not 
Molly  who  is  to  be  thought  of  now,  but  Francois." 

Then  taking  her  scissors  and  the  warm  garment  in 
her  hands,  she  went  back  to  the  bedside,  and  saying 
very  soberly,  and  in  her  mother's  dialect,  — 


THE  DAGGER  OF  DE  MONTARNAUD.      IOQ 

"It  is  right  that  thee  should  have  some  clean 
clothes,  Francois ; "  she  swiftly  cut  around  the  bind- 
ing and  down  the  other  sleeve  of  the  fragment  of  a 
shirt,  raised  the  head  and  shoulders  of  her  patient 
upon  her  strong  right  arm,  and  deftly  threw  the  clean 
garment  over  his  head,  contriving  to  draw  the  loose 
wide  sleeve  over  the  broken  arm  without  more  pain 
than  could  be  silently  borne. 

"And  now  I  think  thee  can  take  off  thy  other 
clothes,  and  move  to  the  fresh  side  of  the  bed,  while  1 
make  thee  some  gruel,"  said  Mary  in  a  calm  maternal 
voice,  hiding  so  completely  the  quaking  of  her  girlish 
heart,  and  the  shame  of  her  maiden  modesty,  that  the 
young  man  looked  up  at  her  in  quick  surprise ;  but  as 
his  eyes  met  hers  he  read  so  well  the  doubt,  and  self- 
control,  and  pain  in  their  calm  depths,  that  he  needed 
not  to  look  again,  and  only  replied  gravely,  — 

"  I  thank  you,  mademoiselle  :  I  can  to  do  so." 

So  Mary  closed  the  door,  and,  falling  upon  her  knees 
beside  Tabitha  curled  in  the  armchair,  buried  her  face 
in  her  vari-colored  fur,  and  wept  a  few  hot  sudden 
tears.  One  must  have  some  sympathy,  and  Tabitha 
was  a  good  confidante,  for  she  never  said,  "I  told 
you  so,"  and  never  repeated  what  was  said  to  her. 


1 10  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MRS.   HETHERFORD  TAKES  PITY  ON  MAUY. 

E  gruel  was  made  and  taken,  the  bedroom 

JL  was  arranged  in  its  usual  orderly  fashion,  all 
traces  of  the  stranger  within  its  precincts,  except  his 
actual  presence,  were  carefully  put  away ;  and  about 
three  o'clock,  Molly,  a  little  weary  at  last,  sat  down 
beside  the  bed  to  rest,  and  watch  the  unquiet  slumbers 
of  her  patient.  The  fever,  a  little  subdued  by  the 
bathing  and  clean  linen,  had  returned ;  and  although 
the  sick  man  slept,  it  was  brokenly,  and  with  incessant 
murmurs  and  tossings,  which  constantly  threatened  to 
disarrange  the  wounded  arm,  and  make  matters  worse 
than  in  the  beginning. 

While  Molly  vainly  sought  by  fanning,  or  re-arran- 
ging the  pillows,  or  gently  bathing  the  burning  fore- 
head, to  still  these  restless  motions,  she  was  startled 
by  a  sharp  and  sudden  knock  upon  the  outer  door. 

"  Q.u'est-ce  que  c*est!  "  exclaimed  Francois  sharply, 
and  starting  up  in  his  bed.  Molly  gently  replaced  his 
head  upon  the  pillow. 

"  Keep  very  still !  Do  not  speak  or  stir,"  said  she 
in  a  firm,  low  voice.  "  Some  one  is  coming  in,  and 
must  not  hear  you.  There  is  danger  if  they  do." 

"  Danger,  danger  I     Les  mautits  Anglais,"  whis- 


MRS.  HETHERFORD  PITIES  MARY.      Ill 

pered  Francois  deliriously.  Mary  nodded  without 
frying  to  understand,  placed  her  finger  upon  her  lips, 
and  left  the  room  carefully,  closing  the  door,  and  draw- 
ing her  great  spinning-wheel  across  it.  Then  she 
nastened  to  open  the  outer  door ;  and  not  too  soon, 
for  the  visitor  was  knocking  loudly  and  impatiently 
upon  it.  As  she  raised  the  latch,  a  much-muffled  and 
irate  woman  pushed  impatiently  in. 

"  Mrs.  Hetherford  !  "  exclaimed  Molly. 

"  Yes,  it's  me ;  and  I  didn't  know  as  you  were  ever 
going  to  let  me  in.  Were  you  asleep  at  this  time  of 
day?"  asked  the  visitor,  looking  sharply  around. 

"  No  ma'am,  but  busy  in  another  room.  Won't  you 
sit  down,  and  throw  off  your  cloak?  " 

"Well,  I  can't  stay  long.  I've  enough  to  do  at 
home  ;  but  the  fact  is,  child,  I  took  pity  on  you,  though 
you  don't  deserve  it,  and  come  over  to  give  you  some 
wholesome  advice  and  oversight." 

"You  are  very  kind,  ma'am,"  replied  Molly  de- 
murely, while  the  ghost  of  a  smile  flitted  across  her 
lips. 

"  Kind  !  Well,  I  think  it  is  kind  to  come  out  such 
a  law-boned  day  as  this,  especially  for  a  busy  woman 
like  me ;  but  then  I  look  upon  you  the  same  as  I  do 
on  Mercy,  and  when  you're  married  to  Reuben  you 
will  be  the  same,  you  know." 

"  I  told  Reuben  last  night  that  I  should  never  marry 
him/'  said  Molly  gently,  but  very  firmly. 

The  matron  tossed  her  head,  sniffed  contemptu- 
ously, and  untied  the  strings  of  her  green  silk  hood, 
of  the  shape  called  pumpkin,  and  possibly  imitated 
from  that  national  vegetable. 


112  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN 

"  I've  heard  of  young  folks  falling  out  before  now,'J 
said  she,  "  and  I've  heard  of  their  falling  in  again." 

"But,  as  Reuben  and  I  have  not  quarrelled,  we 
cannot  make  it  up,"  replied  Molly.  "  I  have  always 
thought  it  was  a  mistake  for  me  to  have  promised  to 
marry  him,  and  while  I  was  alone  yesterday,  before  he 
and  Mercy  came  over,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  break 
it  off.  I  am  not  at  all  angry,  and  there  is  no  chance 
of  my  thinking  differently." 

"  Marie,  sainte  viergc  Marie  !  "  murmured  a  voice 
from  the  bedroom,  plainly  audible  to  Mary,  but  in 
Mrs.  Hetherford's  ears  confused  with  a  sudden  screech 
from  Tabitha,  upon  whose  tail  her  mistress  had  trod- 
den, as  she  lay  asleep  before  the  fire. 

"  Mercy  on  us !  Why  don't  you  turn  that  nasty 
cat  out  of  doors?  and  how  the  wind  whistles  round 
this  house  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hetherford,  turning  from 
the  fire  to  look  about  the  room  with  half-formed  sus- 
picion of  she  knew  not  what.  The  mutterings  from 
the  bedroom  continued,  but  less  distinctly ;  and  Mary, 
with  a  light  laugh,  drew  her  spinning-wheel  a  little 
way  from  the  door,  and  began  to  whirl  it  busily,  say- 
ing the  while,  — 

"  The  wind  makes  a  good  deal  of  noise,  to  be  sure, 
but  I  drown  it  with  the  sound  of  my  spinning-wheel. 
Mother  left  me  such  a  lot  of  rolls  to  yarn  off,  that  I 
have  not  much  time  to  get  frightened.  You'll  excuse 
my  keeping  at  work,  I  hope." 

"  Oh  !  you're  very  excusable,"  said  Mrs.  Hetherford 
in  an  offended  tone,  and  drawing  her  cloak  about  her. 
"I'm  a  good  deal  in  i  hurry  myself,  and  couldn't 


MRS.   HETHERFORD  PITIES  MARY.      113 

well  leave  to  come  over  here ;  but,  as  I  said,  I  took 
pity  on  you,  more  for  your  own  folly  than  any  thing 
else,  and  I  run  over  to  ask  you  once  more  to  come 
and  stay  at  my  house  till  your  mother  gets  back.  It 
isn't  suitable  anyway  for  a  girl  like  you  to  be  all  alone 
in  the  house,  specially  o'  nights ;  and  Mercy  got  mad 
when  she  and  Reuben  were  here  last  night,  and 
wouldn't  come  if  I  was  to  send  her;  and  Reuben, 
he's  took  it  to  heart,  what  you  said ;  and  the  only  way 
to  make  things  straight  is  for  you  to  give  up  your  will 
this  once,  and  come  along." 

"I  thank  you  very  much,  Mrs.  Hetherford,  very 
much  indeed,  but  I  cannot  come,"  replied  Molly, 
more  coldly  and  briefly  than  she  was  aware  of  speak- 
ing ;  for  her  whole  mind  was  absorbed  in  listening  to 
the  low  murmurs  so  distinct  to  her  own  ear,  and  her 
physical  powers  were  strained  to  the  utmost  in  keep- 
ing up  the  incessant  whirl  of  the  wheel,  which  for  the 
moment  drowned  all  other  sound.  No  wonder,  there- 
fore, if  her  reply  struck  short-tempered  Mrs.  Hether- 
ford's  ears  as  churlish  and  ungrateful.  She  rose  at 
once,  and,  tying  the  pumpkin  hood  tightly  under  her 
chin,  said,  in  a  voice  tremulous  with  anger,  — 

"Well,  that's  short  and  sweet,  and  to  the  point, 
Mistress  Mary  Wilder ;  and  the  next  time  I  leave  m> 
woik  and  come  sneaking  over  here  to  coax  an  un- 
grateful minx  to  visit  me,  I  guess  you'll  know  it.  I 
should  think,  at  any  rate,  you  might  treat  a  woman  old 
enough  to  be  your  mother  with  some  little  pretence  of 
respect ;  but  I  suppose  that  isn't  Quaker  fashion.  I 
don't  k»ow  much  about  that  kind  of  cattle,  but  J  heai 


114  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

the  courts  at  home  are  shipping  them  all  out  of  the 
country.  I  hope  there  won't  any  more  come  over 
here." 

'•'  Didn't  you  know  that  Reuben  has  promised  my 
mother  that  he  will  join  them  if  I  will?  "  asked  Molly 
maliciously ;  and  then,  perceiving  that  the  hood  and 
her  own  anger  had  effectually  closed  the  good  wo- 
maii's  ears  to  any  indefinite  sounds,  and  that  she  was 
actually  leaving  the  house,  she  abandoned  the  spin- 
ning-wheel, and,  following  her  to  the  door,  laid  a 
hand  upon  her  arm,  saying  gently,  — 

"Don't  leave  me  in  anger,  Mrs.  Hetherford,  and 
forgive  me  if  I  spoke  improperly  to  you.  You  have 
been  very  good  to  me  all  these  years,  and  I  do  not 
want  you  to  be  offended  now.  Don't  you  know  how 
many  mince-turnovers,  and  cocked  hats  of  ginger- 
bread, you  have  made  for  me?" 

"  Oh  !  your  mother  can  make  'em  a  sight  better. 
Reuben  told  me  so  once." 

"  Yes,  and  never  had  another  crumb  of  pie  nor  cake 
all  that  week,"  laughed  Molly.  "  That  was  years  ago, 
but  I  remember  it  perfectly.  Come,  auntie  Hether- 
ford, give  me  a  kiss  for  old  times'  sake,  and  don't  go 
away  in  anger." 

"There,  there!  O  Molly!  I  always  said  you'd  be 
like  sunshine  in  our  house,  and  you'd  be  the  making 
of  Reuben ;  and  now  you  say  you  won't.  There,  you 
needn't  try  to  coax  me  round,  for  I  won't  be  ccaxed. 
If  you  want  me  for  a  friend  you've  got  to  give  in,  and 
come  over  to  my  house.  Come  now,  be  a  good  child, 
and  say  you  will,  and  let  Reuben  drive  the  sled  ovei 


MRS.  HETHERFORD  PITIES  MARY.        1 15 

for  you  before  night.  Say  you  will,  now,  that's  a 
pretty  o^e." 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  so  sorry  to  displease  you,  dear  kind 
tnend ;  but  I  cannot,  I  must  not.  It  is  my  duty  to 
stay  here,  and  I  can  do  nothing  else." 

The  pain  of  her  kind  heart  in  thus  breaking  off,  as 
she  knew  she  did,  the  ties  of  a  life-time  in  familiar 
companionship  and  neighborly  kindness,  if  not  in  real 
love,  showed  itself  plainly  in  her  face  and  in  her 
voice ;  but  the  angry  mother  only  felt  the  slight  to  her 
son,  and  the  matron  resented  the  young  girl's  resist- 
ance of  her  entreaties  and  effort :  so  with  no  reply 
save  an  indignant  toss  of  the  head,  Mrs.  Hetherford 
plucked  her  cloak  from  Molly's  clinging  fingers,  and 
plunged  out  into  the  snow.  At  a  little  distance  waited 
the  sled  on  which  she  had  come,  with  Reuben  stand- 
ing beside  the  horse's  head.  He  looked  eagerly 
toward  the  door  as  it  opened,  but,  perceiving  at  a 
glance  that  his  mother  had  failed  in  effecting  a  recon- 
ciliation, turned  suddenly  away,  with  no  response  to 
Molly's  forced  smile  and  salutation. 

"And  there  go,"  said  she  aloud,  as  she  closed  and 
bolted  the  door,  "almost  the  only  friends  I  ever 
claimed  outside  this  house,  and  now  they  are  enemies. 
Had  it  not  been  for  you,  Francois,  I  could  hardly 
have  said  Mrs.  Hetherford  nay,  though  I  would  never 
have  married  her  son.  Truly,  Valerie  may  be  a  little 
grateful  to  me  for  my  care  of  her  lover." 


Il6  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  PRIEST'S  CHAMBER. 

'THHE  sleepless  nights,  the  anxious  days,  passed  on, 

JL  stealing  the  color  from  Molly  Wilder's  cheek, 
the  roundness  from  her  form,  the  elasticity  from  her 
step,  until  the  sixth  morning  arrived,  and  Amariah 
presented  himself  in  the  kitchen,  fully  equipped  for  a 
journey,  and  ready  for  any  last  words  from  his  young 
mistress;  but  as  he  looked  steadily  in  her  face,  his 
own  shadowed  with  concern,  and  in  his  kindly,  homely 
voice,  and  half  paternal  way,  he  exclaimed,  — 

"Why,  Molly,  child,  how  you  have  fell  away,  and 
how  pale  you  look !  You  don't  eat  enough,  I'll  bet, 
though  I've  brought  in  two  chickens,  and  as  much  as 
two  dozen  eggs,  besides  all  you  had  in  the  house.  I'm 
main  sorry  you  fell  out  with  Reuben,  and  so  staid 
here  all  alone.  It  ain't  no  use  to  ask  you  to  go  over 
there  for  to-night?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  use,  Amariah.  So  you  are  going  to 
start  directly?" 

"Yes,  right  away.  I'll  get  over  to  Falmouth  before 
night,  and  the  stage  will  be  along  in  the  morning ;  so 
yoa  can  look  for  us  to-morrow  before  dark.  I've 
engaged  Reuben's  Hez  to  sleep  in  the  barn  to-iu^ht, 
BO  if  you  get  scared  you've  only  to  blow  the  horn, 


THE  PRIEST'S  CHAMBER.  117 

same  as  you  would  for  me ;  and  he'll  fetch  in  some 
fresh  water  in  the  morning.  You've  got  wood 
enough  ?  " 

'Enough  for  a  week,  I  should  think,"  said  Molly 
smiling  merrily. 

"And  there's  nothing  more  that  I  can  do  for  you 
before  I  go?" 

"  No.  Here  is  a  little  note  for  my  father,  and  I 
want  you  to  give  it  to  him  when  he  is  alone." 

"I  understand;  and  I'll  do  it  all  right.  Well,  I 
guess  I'd  better  be  going.  Good-by." 

"  Good-by,  Amariah."  And  closing  the  door,  Molly 
watched  until  the  comfortable  box-sleigh,  well  filled 
with  blankets  and  rugs,  drove  away ;  and  then,  still  like 
the  mother-bird  flying  back  to  her  wounded  nestling, 
'she  hastened  into  the  bedroom,  and  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment looking  anxiously  down  at  her  patient. 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  great  deal  better,"  said  she  half  aloud, 
and  Francois,  looking  affectionately  up  at  her,  mur- 
mured in  reply,  — 

"  Yes,  better,  much  of  better." 

"But  are  you  enough  better  to  bear  moving?" 
asked  Molly  anxiously.  "  My  father  and  mother  are 
coming  home  to-morrow,  and  you  must  not  be  here 
unless  you  will  trust  them  as  well  as  me." 

Francois  shook  his  head,  saying  eagerly,  "  No,  no  J 
I  can  to  trust  no  one  but  Marie." 

"Then  I  must  hide  you.  Will  it  hurt  you  very 
much  to  go  through  the  cold  house,  and  up  into  a 
cold  garret?  I  am  afraid  it  will." 

"  Tell  again,  my  Marie :  I  not  to  understand." 


Il8  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

So  Molly,  with  patient  iteration  and  gesture,  ex- 
plained her  plan,  and  Francois  at  length  understood. 
In  fact,  even  in  five  days  these  two  had  invented  a 
language  quite  their  own,  although  compounded  of 
both  French  and  English,  besides  that  unwritten  lan- 
guage previously  mentioned,  and  used  during  some 
portions  of  their  lives  by  most  persons,  at  least  those 
of  sensitive  organization.  But  as  our  two  linguists  did 
not  reduce  their  invention  to  written  character,  or 
indeed  seek  to  adapt  it  to  popular  comprehension,  it 
is  impossible  to  transcribe  it  precisely ;  and  in  relating 
that  Francois  or  Molly  said  thus  and  so,  it  is  understood 
that  the  language  is  not  precisely  their  own,  but  rather 
its  interpretation. 

Thus,  then,  after  their  own  fashion,  the  two  arranged 
their  plans,  and  chatted  merrily  and  happily  until  the 
twilight  fell,  and  Molly  prepared  a  little  supper  for  her 
charge,  watched  him  with  maternal  satisfaction  as  he 
took  it,  then,  making  every  thing  tidy  about  him  for 
the  night,  sat  down  beside  the  bed,  and  began  to  sing 
softly  one  of  the  old  hymns  her  father  still  retained 
from  his  early  training  in  the  Church. 

Francois  lay  and  looked  at  her  for  a  while,  and 
then  said,  — 

"  I  am  glad  you  sing  nothing  gay,  and  I  am  glad 
your  voice  is  so  deep  and  rich.  It  is  not  in  the  least 
like  a  bird-song." 

"And  why  are  you  glad  of  that?"  asked  Molly  in 
surprise. 

"  Because  I  could  not  bear  that  any  woman  should 
sing  to  me  in  a  high,  clear  voice,  trilling  and  soaring 


THE  PRIEST'S  CHAMBER.  119 

like  a  lark,  so  sweet,  so  penetrating,  so  maddening.'' 
He  had  run  off  into  French  in  the  last  words,  and 
Molly  drew  away  the  hand  he  had  seized  in  his. 

"  I  suppose  Valerie  sang  like  that,  and  you  could 
not  bear  that  I  should  try  to  imitate  her,"  said  she 
impetuously,  and  so  rapidly  that  Fra^ois  did  not 
understand  a  word,  except  the  name. 

"Valerie!"  repeated  he  almost  sternly,  "what  do 
you  know  of  Valerie  ?  " 

"Nothing.  You  have  spoken  the  name  in  your 
delirium,  that  is  all.  Pardon  my  freedom  in  repeating 
it,"  said  Molly  coldly ;  and  then  she  rose  and  went  into 
the  other  room,  and  never  knew  when  Tabitha  rubbed 
against  her  feet,  and  purred  her  sympathy,  for  she  was 
staring  through  the  uncurtained  window  with  eyes  that 
saw  nothing  for  the  bitter  tears  that  blinded  them. 

Suddenly  out  of  the  darkness  shaped  itself  a  face, 
the  mean  repulsive  face  of  Reuben  Hetherford  looking 
steadily  in  upon  her.  A  sharp  terror  seized  upon 
Molly's  heart ;  not  for  herself  in  any  case,  but  for  that 
helpless  stranger  whose  life  and  liberty  she  had  prom- 
ised to  defend  to  the  uttermost.  Could  Reuben  from 
that  angle  see  past  her  into  the  bedroom  ?  Had  he 
heard  voices  ?  Did  he  suspect  something,  or  was  it 
only  herself  for  whom  he  was  looking? 

Not  daring  to  answer  these  questions  by  an  appeal 
to  himself,  and  yielding  to  the  terror  and  repulsion  of 
the  moment,  more  than  to  reason,  Molly  sharply  drew 
the  curtain  across  the  window,  making  sure  that  every 
crevice  was  covered,  and  then  flying  to  the  door  satis- 
fied herself  that  it  was  securely  bolted.  As  she  did  so. 


120  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMtfT. 

a  low  rap  upon  the  panel  startled  he/,  and  Reuben 
Hetherford's  voice  called,  — 

"  Molly,  Molly  Wilder  !    It's  Reuben  ! " 

But  at  the  same  moment  another  voico  ui  the  oppo- 
site direction  called  also,  — 

"  Marie  /  Chere  Marie  !  Venez-ici  de  gra<e  !  " 

Running  light  and  swift  as  a  cat  across  the  intervcn- 
ing  room  Mary  stood  beside  her  patient's  bed,  and 
grasping  his  outstretched  hand  whispered,  — 

"  Be  quiet,  be  quiet,  Francois,  for  heaven's  sake  1 
Some  one  is  outside  1 " 

Then  back  again  to  the  door  to  say  coldly  and  for 
biddingly,  — 

"  Is  that  you,  Reuben?    What  do  you  want?  " 

But  no  one  replied ;  and  this  sudden  abandonment 
of  his  purpose,  in  a  man  so  obstinate  as  Hetherford, 
alarmed  Molly  more  than  any  persistence  could  have 
done ;  for  it  seemed  as  if,  his  suspicions  having  been 
in  some  way  confirmed,  he  had  retreated  to  take  action 
upon  them. 

"  I  will  not  delay  an  hour  after  daylight,"  said  Molly 
aloud  as  she  returned  to  the  bedroom ;  and  then  sit- 
ting beside  Francois,  her  hand  again  in  his,  she  told 
him  of  Reuben's  visit,  and  of  all  the  causes  for  her 
terror  of  him. 

An  hour  later  the  farmhouse  was  quiet  and  peaceful ; 
he  innocent  child  sleeping  rosily  upon  her  hard  and 
careless  bed  beside  the  fire,  with  Tabitha  purring  at  her 
side ;  and  the  worn  and  wounded  man  of  the  world,  of 
camps  and  battle-fields  and  courtly  life,  tossing  rest- 
lessly upon  his  too  luxurious  bed,  and  dreaming  now 


THE  PRIEST'S  CHAMBER.  121 

of  Valerie  hiding  among  the  roses  of  the  Provencal 
gaiden,  and  now  of  Mary  bending  over  him  with  calm 
pitiful  eyes,  and  hand  of  gentle  ministry. 

Morning  broke,  and  Tabitha  and  Molly  shook  off 
their  healthy  slumbers  just  as  Francois  fell  into  his 
first  sound  sleep.  Creeping  on  tiptoe  to  look  at  him, 
Molly  covered  him  more  warmly,  closed  the  door,  re- 
newed the  fire,  and  hung  the  tea-kettle  over  the  merry 
blaze.  Then  she  put  the  high  fender  in  front  of  it, 
looked  around  the  kitchen  murmuring,  "  I  am  so  giad 
Amariah  is  safely  out  of  the  way  ! "  and,  wrapping  a 
warm  shawl  about  her  shoulders,  tied  the  ends  in  a 
great  knot  behind  after  the  picturesque  gypsy  fash- 
ion. Then  she  passed  into  the  cold  and  cheerless 
front  entry  and  up-stairs,  followed  by  Tabitha,  who 
ruffled  her  fur  in  expostulation  at  the  change  of  tem- 
perature, but  evidently  felt  it  a  duty  to  attend  her  mis- 
tress. From  the  upper  landing  ascended  a  narrow 
enclosed  staircase  ;  and  mounting  this,  Molly  found  her- 
self in  the  garret,  a  great  unfinished  loft,  dark  except 
for  a  little  square  window  at  either  end,  and  gloomy 
and  quiet  and  funereal  as  one  might  expect  of  a  place 
evidently  used  as  the  final  resting-place  of  such  ob- 
jects as  had  fulfilled  their  uses  below,  and  were  now 
consigned  to  this  limbo  as  an  intermediate  step  to 
oblivion. 

"  A  little  scary  up  here,  as  Mrs.  Hetherford  says, 
isn't  it,  Tabby?"  said  Molly  standing  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  and  looking  about  her;  while  Tabby,  divin- 
ing the  presence  of  mice,  began  eagerly  to  prowl  about 
the  eaves,  and  sniff  in  the  dark  corners.  Her  mistress, 


122  A   NAMELESS  NCBLEMAN. 

meantime,  softly  humming  one  of  the  solemn  melodies 
Frangois  had  approved,  began  to  remove  a  confused 
mass  of  lumber  heaped  behind  the  chimney,  which, 
large  and  square  and  cumbrous,  occupied  great  part 
of  the  middle  of  the  place.  Beyond  it  a  rude  parti- 
tion of  quilts  and  curtains  divided  off  a  little  nook 
intended  for  Amariah's  lodging,  until  Mrs.  Wilder 
decided  to  banish  him  to  the  barn ;  and  this  screer 
still  hanging  made  one  wall  of  the  hiding-place  Moll) 
had  already  in  her  mind  contrived  for  the  refuge  of 
her  prisoner.  The  chimney  itself  formed  another  side, 
the  eaves  of  the  house  a  third ;  and  across  the  fourth, 
which  was  nearest  the  stairs,  Molly  re-arranged  the 
old  spinning-wheel,  the  boxes,  the  discarded  tin  fire- 
screens, and  re-hung  the  ghostly  garments  from  nails 
driven  into  the  rafters  in  such  manner  that  they 
seemed  to  keep  watch  and  ward,  like  disembodied 
sentinels,  over  the  approach  to  the  hidden  nest  the 
young  girl  was  so  cunningly  devising  for  her  wounded 
nursling.  The  weakest  side  was  that  of  the  quilt  and 
shawl  partition,  which  Mrs.  Wilder's  restless  spirit 
might  any  day  lead  her  to  remove,  or  at  any  rate  to 
pull  aside.  Molly  stood  for  some  moments,  her  finger 
on  her  lip,  looking  at  this  screen,  and  meditating  how 
to  make  it  either  more  substantial  or  more  inaccessi- 
ble. Then  a  merry  smile  crossed  her  lips ;  and  going 
£  the  truckle-bedstead  in  the  corner,  still  left  as  Ama- 
riah  had  last  used  it,  she  dragged  the  great  feather-bed 
off  upon  the  boards,  ripped  it  up  with  the  scissors  hang- 
ing at  her  side,  and  emptied  the  contents  upon  the 
floor  in  front  of  the  screen,  where  they  made  a  flufly 


THE  PRIEST'S  CHAMBER,  12$ 

and  unquiet  heap  not  to  be  approached,  especially  by 
feminine  skirts,  without  danger  of  suffocation  to  the 
intruder,  and  waste  to  the  feathers. 

"There,  Tabby  !"  exclaimed  Molly  as  she  carefully 
turned  the  tick  inside  out,  and  then  rolled  it  togethei 
in  a  downy  and  dusty  parcel,  "  mother  said  she  should 
have  to  empty  that  bed,  and  clean  the  feathers :  so 
we've  been  smart,  and  done  it  for  her,  the  first  part, 
anyway;  and  she  won't  meddle  with  them  before 
spring,  I  know." 

Then,  still  smiling  at  her  own  exploit,  Molly  took  a 
final  survey  of  her  arrangements  so  far,  and  went  down 
stairs ;  where  she  found  that  the  kettle  had  boiled  over, 
and  nearly  extinguished  the  fire,  and  Francois  had 
awakened,  and  was  feeling  rather  abused  at  remaining 
so  long  unnoticed.  A  few  bright  words,  a  few  deftly- 
rendered  services,  made  him  quite  comfortable  and  re- 
stored his  good  humor,  however ;  and  as  Molly  turned 
away,  saying  with  a  sunny  smile,  "  Now  you  shall  have 
your  breakfast,"  he  caught  her  dress,  and  detained 
her  to  say,  — 

"  You  will  to  pardon  my  bad  humor.  The  fault,  it 
is  yours,  because  that  you  to  spoil  me  have  :  you  are 
too  much  good  to  me,  so  unworthy." 

"  You  were  not  ill-humored,  only  a  little  tired,"  said 
Molly  gently;  "and  it  is  the  greatest  pleasure  I  ever 
knew  to  take  care  of  you." 

She  blushed  brightly  as  she  spoke,  and  her  calm 
eyes  fell  before  the  gaze  Francois  fixed  upon  them. 
He  released  her  dress  without  reply ;  and,  while  she 
hastened  away  to  provide  his  morning  meal,  the  young 


124  *  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAM 

man  lay  very  quiet,  his  brow  slightly  knitted,  his  face 
troubled  and  thoughtful. 

Breakfast  over  and  removed,  Molly  cheerily  said,  — 

"  And  now,  Francois,  you  must  be  very  patient  and 
good,  while  I  go  and  finish  preparing  your  hiding- 
place.  I  have  to  make  it  comfortable  now,  and  then 
we  will  see  how  we  can  get  up  there." 

"  Yes,  you  make  a  priest's  chamber  as  they  did  in 
the  old  time,  —  for  Huguenot  to-day,  for  Catholic  to- 
morrow," said  Francois  smiling.  "  Well,  go  then, 
dear  child :  I  will  be  content." 

So  Molly  again  mounted  to  the  dark  and  cheerless 
garret ;  and  of  the  small  space  now  so  safely  concealed 
from  any  but  the  most  rigorous  search,  she  soon  con- 
trived to  make  as  cosey  and  comfortable  a  little  nook  as 
ever  sheltered  Huguenot  minister  or  Catholic  priest. 
The  great  mass  of  masonry  composing  the  chimney, 
once  thoroughly  heated  by  the  kitchen-fire,  retained 
its  warmth  through  the  night ;  and  Molly  arranged  the 
bed  close,  beside  it.  Some  skins  of  foxes  and  smaller 
game,  which  her  father  had  shot  and  cured,  made  a 
soft  and  delightful  carpet ;  a  chair  and  a  little  table 
were  found  among  the  lumber,  and  a  candlestick  and 
store  of  candles  laid  ready.  Finally  she  brought  a 
basin  and  jug,  some  of  the  fine  towels  her  mother  had 
made  her  spin,  and  had  hired  woven  for  the  possible 
trousseau  provided  for  thrifty  maidens  of  that  day, 
and  the  little  looking-glass  from  her  own  room. 

"  There,  that  will  do,  Tabby ;  and  now  we  will  go 
and  bring  him  up-stairs,"  said  she,  looking  admiringly 
around  when  the  mirror  was  hung,  and  all  complete. 


THE  PRIEST'S  CHAMBER.  12$ 

Tabby  arched  her  back,  enlarged  the  circumference  of 
her  tail,  and  purring  approvingly  followed  her  mistress 
down-stairs.  They  found  Francois  out  of  bed,  looking 
very  pale  and  exhausted,  but  partially  dressed,  and 
ready  for  departure. 

"  How  brave  you  are,  and  how  strong,  to  get  up  all 
alone  ! "  exclaimed  Molly  admiringly ;  and  then  she 
brought  a  great  soft  shawl,  and  muffled  him  so  far  as  he 
would  suffer  it,  and  some  of  her  own  shoes,  quite  large 
enough  for  his  slender  and  patrician  feet,  and  offered 
her  shoulder  to  the  uninjured  arm  of  the  invalid,  who 
laid  it  caressingly  about  her  neck. 

"You  are  like  Juno ;  no,  it  is  Diana  that  you  are," 
said  he  hi  French  :  "  so  fearless,  so  strong,  so  chaste, 
so  unconscious  of  the  Acteons  of  the  world." 

"  Lean  on  me  as  heavily  as  you  like,  and  be  very 
careful  with  the  stairs,"  replied  Molly  in  English ;  and 
neither  cared  a  whit  for  comprehending  the  spoken 
words,  since  the  tone  translated  itself. 

The  priest's  chamber  was  reached,  the  candle  light- 
ed, and  the  invalid  carefully  laid  upon  his  bed,  when 
a  thundering  knock  upon  the  front  door  resounded 
through  the  house. 

"  It  is  danger  ! "  exclaimed  Francois  :  "  they  know 
of  me,  and  they  will  perhaps  do  harm  for  you.  Let 
me  to  them,  and  I  will  swear  you  know  not  that  I 
here  am." 

"  No,  no,  Francois  !  all  will  be  well  without  that," 
replied  Molly  hurriedly.  "  Only  keep  very,  very  quiet, 
and,  even  if  we  come  up  here,  make  no  noise  unless 
you  are  actually  discovered." 


126  A  NAMELESS  &OBLEMAJV. 

Then  blowing  out  the  candle,  she  went  out,  paused 
to  arrange  the  pile  of  lumber  a  little  more  carefully, 
took  a  final  view  of  every  thing,  hurried  down  stairs, 
and  locked  the  door  at  the  foot ;  then,  flying  to  the 
bedroom  so  lately  vacated,  stripped  the  clothes  from 
the  bed,  and  finally,  running  back  to  the  front  door, 
she  unbolted  and  opened  it.  Upon  the  step  stood 
Reuben  Hetherford,  and  a  man  whom  Molly  remem- 
bered to  have  seen  at  the  Corners,  but  whose  name 
she  did  not  know. 


THE  SEARCH-WARRANT.  I2/ 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE   SEARCH-WARRANT. 

/^OOD-MORNING,  Mistress  Mary  Wilder,"  said 
V_T  the  stranger,  with  grave  politeness ;  for  Reuben, 
like  Judas  Iscariot  and  other  celebrated  traitors,  hung 
back  in  shame  at  the  treason  he  yet  was  determined 
to  effect. 

" Good- morning,  sir,"  replied  the  girl  briefly:  "may 
I  ask  your  name  and  errand,  an'  it  please  you  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  John  Dibley,  and  my  errand  to  search 
for  an  escaped  prisoner,  suspected  to  be  concealed  in 
this  house." 

"And  why  should  you  so  suspect,  Master  Dibley? " 
asked  Mary,  with  a  steady  glance  at  Reuben,  who, 
stung  into  speech  by  its  contempt,  hurriedly  ex- 
claimed, — 

"  There  is  no  use  in  denying  it,  Molly.  I  saw  last 
night,  when  I  looked  in  at  the  kitchen  window,  —  I 
saw  you  stoop  over  some  one  in  the  bed,  and  I  saw  a 
hand  holding  your  dress  as  you  turned  away,  and  I 
heard  a  voice  not  yours." 

"  People  who  look  in  at  windows  and  listen  at  key- 
holes are  very  apt  to  get  their  stories  wrong,"  replied 
Molly  calmly.  "  If  you  mistook  my  cat  Tabitha  for  a 
Frenchman,  and  her  white  paw  for  a  hand,  and  have 


128  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

brought  Master  Dibley  over  from  the  Corners  this  cold 
morning  to  arrest  the  poor  puss,  I  can  do  no  less  than 
show  her  to  him.  —  Master  Dibley,  if  you  will  come  in, 
I  will  lead  you  through  every  room  in  this  house,  and 
deliver  up  all  the  Frenchmen  you  may  find.  Master 
Reuben  Hetherford  shall  keep  watch  on  the  outside, 
lest  some  of  them  escape ;  or,  if  he  prefers,  he  may 
stare  in  at  the  kitchen  window.  Inside  the  house  I 
have  my  father's  orders  not  to  admit  him." 

Mr.  Dibley  looked  foolish,  but  stepped  inside  the 
door,  which  Molly  immediately  shut  and  bolted. 

"I  —  I  —  kind  of  brought  Reuben  along  as  a  spe- 
cial constable  —  a  —  h  "  —  stammered  he. 

Mary  stopped,  with  the  door  of  the  parlor  in  her 
hand,  and  turned  round  upon  him,  while  the  morning 
light,  streaming  in  from  behind,  seemed  to  magnify 
and  irradiate  her  form,  and  touch  the  dusky  lights  of 
her  coronal  of  hair  into  gleams  of  red  gold,  until  she 
looked  like  a  crowned  queen  scorning  the  invader  of 
her  realm. 

"Do  you  know  my  father,  Master  Dibley?"  asked 
she  quietly. 

"  Yes,  mistress :  he  is  an  honest  and  honorable  man." 

"  And  do  you  think  he  or  his  household  would  har- 
bor those  who  were  enemies  of  the  colony,  or  of  the 
king?" 

"  No,  mistress ;  and  yet "  — 

"And  do  you  know  that  I,  one  weak  girl,  am  all 
alone  in  this  house,  keeping  it  safely  until  my  parents 
shall  return?  and  do  you  suppose  it  likely  that  I  should 
admit  and  hide  a  Frenchman,  or  any  other  man,  in 
their  absence?" 


THE  SEARCH-WARRANT.  12<) 

"That  is  what  I  said  to  Reuben  Helherford.  1 
said,  says  I  "  — 

"  But  why  did  you  come,  then?  And  why,  above  all 
things,  should  you  bring  that  man  to  help  you,  as 
special  constable  or  any  thing  else?  Don't  you  see, 
sir,  that  all  he  wanted  was  the  chance  to  offer  me  this 
insult  and  slight  ?  We  two  have  quarrelled,  after  being 
troth-plight  lovers ;  and  that,  as  you  may  see  for  your- 
self, is  reason  enough  for  all  this  moil.  I  warrant, 
now,  he  asked  you  to  make  a  special  constable  of 
him?" 

"Well,  yes,  Mistress  Mary,  he  did,"  confessed  poor 
Dibley,  glancing  longingly  at  the  front  door;  "and 
now  that  you  tell  me  all  this,  I  see  that  the  youth  has 
been  too  hasty,  and  I,  perhaps,  too  ready  to  believe 
him.  So  I  take  your  word  that  there  is  no  one  in  the 
house  but  yourself,  and  "  — 

"  Nay,  nay,  sir,  you  shall  not  do  so  !  Since  you 
and  your  special  constable  are  here,  and,  it  may  be,  a 
whole  posse  more  in  ambush  round  the  house,  you 
must  e'en  go  through  with  it,  and  look  at  least  into 
every  room.  I  must  tell  my  father,  when  he  returns, 
that  his  daughter  was  cleared  from  the  suspicion  Reu- 
ben Hetherford  has  brought  upon  her." 

"Nay,  mistress,  be  not  so  angry.  I  coirprehend 
the  matter  now,  and  I  am  fully  satisfied  "  — 

"So  am  not  I,  then,  Master  Dibley;  and  I  do  in- 
sist upon  your  following  me.  This  is  the  parlor ;  and 
as  you  see,  except  in  the  drawers  of  that  secretary, 
there  is  no  place  of  concealment.  Here  is  the 
kitchen ;  and  there  upon  the  hearth  sits  Tabitha,  my 


130  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

companion  and  bed-fellow  since  my  parents'  depart- 
ure. No  doubt,  Reuben  Hetherford  may  have  seen 
me  bending  over  and  petting  her,  and  even  seen  her 
paw  holding  my  dress;  for  we  have  been  guilty  of 
such  follies  in  our  loneliness,  have  we  not,  poor 
Tabitha?  Here,  then,  is  the  bedroom;  and  I  crave 
your  pardon  not  to  have  arranged  it  more  fittingly 
since  I  arose.  I  was  not  expecting  company  so  soon. 
Here  is  the  door  of  the  cellar :  and,  I  pray  you,  step  a 
little  carefully  on  these  damp  and  rotten  boards ;  my 
father  has  talked  so  long  of  mending  them  !  Lo,  you 
now !  You  have  fallen,  and  I  am  afraid  hurt  your 
leg  !  Be  careful,  I  beg ;  for  the  potato-hole  is  close 
beside  you,  and  you  may  easily  slip  in." 

"  I  have  ! "  cried  the  unhappy  constable,  stumbling 
headlong  into  the  little  pit  toward  which  Molly  had 
artfully  led  him :  "  if  you  held  your  candle  so  that  I 
could  see,  it  were  better  than  to  give  tardy  warning  of 
danger." 

"  Our  cellar  is  but  a  dark  and  cramped  place  for  a 
visitor,"  replied  Molly  meekly :  "  had  I  known  that  you 
were  coming,  I  would  have  lighted  it  with  more  than 
this  one  poor  candle.  Here  is  father's  cider-barrel, 
and  here  the  pork,  and  here  "  — 

But  Mr.  Dibley  was  already  limping  up  the  broken 
staircase,  muttering  his  satisfaction ;  and,  with  a  faint 
smile  upon  her  lips,  Molly  followed  him,  and  in  spite 
of  his  resistance  insisted  upon  conducting  him  up- 
stairs, where  she  threw  open  the  bedroom  she  usually 
occupied,  the  unfinished  one  opposite  to  it,  and  then 
laid  her  hand  upon  the  garret  door,  saying,  — 


THE  SEARCH-WARRANT.  131 

"  Now,  here  is  the  garret  door  locked  !  But  wait 
here,  an'  it  please  you,  and  I  will  look  for  the  key. 
Surely  mother  would  not  have  carried  it  to  New  Bed- 
ford with  her,  would  she  ?  " 

"  It  is  useless,  it  is  quite  useless,  to  look  for  it, 
Mary,"  exclaimed  the  constable,  trying  to  prevent  her 
from  going  down  stairs :  "  I  am  quite  and  altogether 
satisfied,  and  have  been  so  from  the  first." 

"  But  so  am  not  I,  Master  Dibley,"  persisted  Molly, 
"  I  have  been  suspected  of  harboring  enemies  of  my 
country ;  and  I  want  you  to  be  able  to  say  that  you 
have  thoroughly  searched  this  house,  and  found  only 
Tabitha  besides  myself.  I  will  go  and  look  for  the 
key ;  and,  if  I  cannot  find  it,  I  will  draw  the  staple,  and 
so  take  off  the  lock." 

As  she  spoke,  she  slipped  past  the  reluctant  con- 
stable, ran  down  the  stairs,  and  into  the  kitchen,  where 
she  looked  carefully  around  her,  thought  she  distin- 
guished Hetherford's  figure  outside  the  window,  and 
for  his  edification  began  rummaging  the  drawers, 
boxes,  shelves,  and  every  sort  of  receptacle  in  the 
room.  Suddenly  she  heard  Dibley's  heavy  feet  creep- 
ing down  the  stairs ;  and,  snatching  the  key  from  the 
box  where  she  was  looking  at  that  moment,  she  rushed 
out,  and  confronted  him  with  it. 

"  At  last,  sir  !  "  exclaimed  she  :  "  I  have  searched 
through  all  mother's  boxes,  and  here  it  is.  Now  come 
up  again,  please,  and  we  will  look." 

"  If  your  garret  is  as  grewsome  an  abode  as  your 
cellar,  I  do  not  believe  even  a  Frenchman  would  hide 
there,"  said  Dibley,  smiling  grimly ;  for  Molly's  bright 


132  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

face  and  cheery  tone  made  him  ashamed  of  churl- 
ishness. 

"  It  is  not  much  better,"  said  she,  unlocking  and 
throwing  open  the  door :  "  I  will  go  first  to  show  you 
where  the  loose  boards  are ;  for,  if  you  fell  through,  it 
might  prove  a  worse  affair  than  the  potato-pit.  This 
way,  please." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  child ;  but  I  can  see  every 
thing  from  here,"  replied  Dibley  with  paternal  kind- 
ness, and  wholesome  fear  of  the  loose  boards.  "  That 
is  a  lot  of  household  stuff  out  of  use,  I  suppose." 

"Yes.  Shall  I  pull  it  down  for  you  to  see  that 
there  is  nothing  behind  it?" 

"  No,  no,  maiden :  I  am  satisfied,  I  tell  you.  I 
could  see  if  there  were  a  mouse  hidden  in  the  place. 
I  can  make  my  affidavit  to  have  searched  the  house 
from  garret  to  cellar,  more  especially  the  cellar,  and  to 
have  found  nought  therein  alive  but  one  fearless 
maid  and  one  tortoise-shell  cat." 

"Yes,  remember  the  cat  above  all,  since  she  may 
be  the  Frenchman  Reuben  lletherford  tspied  through 
the  window." 

Chatting  and  laughing  merrily,  the  two  descended 
the  stairs,  Molly  locking  the  door  behind  her,  <cid  so 
down  to  the  front  door.  Upon  the  step  waited  Reuben 
Hetherford  as  if  he  had  never  moved.  Molly  re- 
garded him  with  cold  and  wrathful  eyes ;  and  in  spite 
of  his  effort  to  slink  behind  florid  Mr.  Dibley,  turning 
to  bid  an  apologetic  good-by,  she  had  a  last  word  for 
him :  — 

"My  father  will  know  how  to  thank  you  for  this 


THE  SEARCH-WARRANT.  133 

good  turn  done  to  his  house  and  daughter,  Master 
Hetherford ;  and  be  sure  he  shall  know  all  your  kind- 
ness so  soon  as  he  is  at  home." 

Reuben  made  no  reply,  and  the  two  departed.  As 
the  sound  of  their  sleigh-bells  died  away,  Molly  locked 
the  door,  and,  going  into  the  kitchen,  threw  herself 
upon  the  settle  in  as  near  to  a  fainting  condition  as 
she  had  ever  known.  She  did  not  cry,  she  did  not 
moan,  or  laugh,  or  speak,  only  lay  upon  the  wooden 
bench,  white  and  still  and  mute  as  a  snow  image,  all 
the  life  and  warmth  gone  out  of  her,  and  only  the 
sense  of  a  terrible  fatigue  remaining.  Tabitha,  who 
had  restlessly  promenaded  the  kitchen  for  some  time, 
looked  up  at  her  with  eyes  narrow  in  the  morning 
sunshine  for  a  few  moments,  then  leaped  softly  upon  the 
end  of  the  bench,  and  walked  carefully  up  the  length 
of  the  recumbent  figure  until,  reaching  the  head,  she 
curled  herself  upon  it  for  a  nap.  The  contact  roused 
Molly,  who,  smiling  feebly,  rose  to  her  feet,  saying,  — 

"I  must  not  stay  idling  here,  while  he  is  making 
himself  sick  with  anxiety.  Come,  Tabitha,  let  us  go 
up." 


134  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

AND  VALERIE? 

A  BOUT  sunset  the  jingle  of  bells  and  the  sound 
JL\.  of  voices  announced  the  arrival  of  the  travellers  ; 
and  Molly,  running  to  the  door  to  receive  them,  was 
startled  at  seeing  her  mother,  much  muffled  and  covered 
with  rugs,  lying  in  the  sleigh,  with  her  husband  holding 
her  head  upon  his  lap,  and  Amariah  sitting  on  a  firkin 
to  drive,  as  the  seat  had  been  removed. 

"What  has  happened?  What  is  the  matter  with 
mother?"  demanded  she,  running  out  into  the  snow, 
and  peeping  over  the  edge  of  the  box-sleigh. 

"  Mother  has  a  bad  cold  and  a  touch  of  rheuma- 
tism, —  that  is  all,"  repiied  the  father  cheerily ;  while 
poor  Deborah  herself  only  moaned  inarticulately. 
Amariah,  however,  was  ready  with  his  explanation  :  — 

"  She  felt  it  her  duty  to  ride  on  the  outside  of  the 
stage-coach,  and  exhort  some  ribald  fellows,  who  only 
laughed  at  her ;  and  so  got  cold,  and  has  a  rheumatic 
fever  to  pay  for  it." 

"Peace,  Amariah!"  exclaimed  his  master  sternly. 
"  When  your  opinion  is  wanted  it  will  be  asked ;  and 
meantime  help  me  lift  your  mistress,  and  carry  her  into 
the  house." 

But  this  operation  was  a  severe  one ;  for  the  least 


AND    VALERIE?  135 

movement  was  so  painful  to  the  unfortunate  woman, 
that  she  constantly  begged  her  husband  to  abandon 
the  attempt,  and  he  as  often  complied,  until  at  last 
Molly  suggested  lifting  the  blanket  upon  which  she 
lay,  and  so  bringing  her  in.  This  plan  succeeded  a 
little  better ;  and  in  a  few  moments  poor  Deborah  was 
laid  in  her  own  bed,  and  Molly  was  carefully  and 
affectionately  attending  her.  But,  even  in  the  midst  of 
her  sincere  grief  and  care  for  her  mother's  sufferings, 
the  young  girl  found  time  to  note  and  smile  a  little  at 
the  odd  fortune  which  in  two  successive  days  had 
given  her  two  such  diverse  patients  to  attend  in  the 
same  bed,  and  each  so  unconscious  of  the  other's  prox- 
imity. Diverse  in  every  respect,  as  she  soon  found ; 
for  in  proportion  as  Francois  was  gentle,  patient, 
grateful,  and  cautious  of  letting  his  needs  be  known  to 
his  nurse,  Mrs.  Wilder  was  fractious,  complaining,  and 
requiring,  so  that  when  Molly  at  last  came  out  to  put 
the  finishing  touches  to  the  meal  her  father  had  nearly 
prepared  by  himself,  she  looked  so  pale  and  tired  that 
he  said  tenderly,  — 

"  You  are  very  weary,  my  child.  You  must  have 
some  one  to  help  you,  now  that  mother  is  laid  by." 

"  Oh,  no  !  thank  you,  father  dear.  I  am  very  strong, 
you  know,  and  after  the  first  it  will  not  be  so  hard." 

"You  do  not  look  so  very  strong  now,  my  lass," 
persisted  the  father,  softly  smoothing  the  nut-brown 
hair  with  his  great  palm.  "  It  was  too  much  for  you 
to  be  so  long  alone,  and  so  worried.  Amariah  told  me 
of  your  falling-out  with  Reuben ;  and  I  heard  over  at 
the  Corners  of  his  malice  in  accusing  you  of  harboring 


136  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

a  Frenchman,  and  bringing  Dibley  here  to  search  my 
house.  Of  a  truth  I  shall  have  a  word  to  say  to 
friend  Reuben." 

"  I  was  not  frightened  of  John  Dibley,  father,  and 
there  is  no  harm  done,"  said  Molly  with  a  gallant 
attempt  at  carelessness,  as  she  met  her  father's  stead- 
fast eyes. 

"  No,  you  were  not  frightened,  I  well  believe,  my 
stout-hearted  wench,"  replied  he  proudly.  "  But  you 
were  angered  and  shamed  to  have  your  discretion  so 
called  in  question.  They  did  not  know  my  maid 
when  they  fancied  she  would  harbor  strange  men 
unknown  to  her  father,  or  willingly  deceive  him  in  any 
fashion." 

As  he  spoke,  Humphrey  Wilder  drew  his  daughter 
toward  him,  and  tenderly  kissed  her  brow.  The  caress 
was  unwonted,  and  put  the  last  touch  to  the  tumult  of 
emotion  in  the  young  girl's  heart.  Sinking  upon  her 
knees  at  her  father's  side,  she  burst  into  a  passion  of 
tears.  It  was  the  first  time  since  she  was  a  little  child 
that  he  had  seen  her  so  moved ;  and,  pressing  her  head 
to  his  breast,  he  soothed  and  chid  her  as  if  she  had 
still  been  one. 

"Why,  there,  then,  my  moppet,  what  ails  thee? 
Tel1  father  all  thy  little  troubles.  Fie,  fie  !  thee  shall 
not  sob  so,  and  spoil  thy  pretty  eyes.  What  is  it, 
child?" 

"Nothing,  father  dear,  nothing  but  —  but  I  am  so 
tired,  and  I  have  been  so  put  about  with  all  these 
things,"  sobbed  Molly,  clinging  for  a  moment  close  to 
that  great  loving  heart,  never  cold  or  silent  to  her,  and 


AND    VALERIE?  137 

then  shrinking  away  with  the  remorseful  consciousness 
that  she  was  keeping  a  secret  from  the  father  who  so 
entirely  trusted  her,  and  allowing  him  to  accept  a  tacil 
denial  of  the  charg*  so  truly  brought  against  her  by 
Hetherford. 

Remorse  and  shame  dried  the  tears  that  tenderness 
lad  caused  to  flow ;  and,  wiping  her  eyes,  Molly  sprang 
to  her  feet,  and  hastily  moved  out  of  reach  of  the 
caressing  hand  whose  touch  seemed  liked  a  brand  of 
infamy  to  her  excited  mood. 

"  I  have  been  growing  nervous  in  this  last  week,  I 
am  afraid,  father,"  said  she  smiling  wanly ;  "  but  I  shall 
try  to  do  better  now  that  you  are  at  home." 

"You  are  tired,  child,"  replied  her  father  tenderly, 
"  and  now  get  thee  to  bed  and  rest.  I  will  do  all  that 
thy  mother  requires  until  morning.  Sleep  and  rest, 
and  waken  my  own  bright-eyed  little  Molly." 

Glad  to  escape  the  loving  scrutiny  of  those  calm 
eyes,  Molly  paid  a  short  visit  to  her  mother's  bedside, 
saw  that  she  was  quite  comfortable,  and  apparently 
almost  asleep,  and  then  retreated  up-stairs  to  her  own 
room.  Waiting  there  some  moments  to  make  sure 
that  her  father  would  not  summon  her  for  some  last 
message  or  charge,  she  blew  out  her  candle,  and, 
lighted  only  by  the  moonlight  shining  in  through  the 
window  above  the  front  door,  unlocked  the  garret- 
door,  and  softly  crept  up  the  stairs.  She  found  Fran- 
9ois  awaiting  her  with  eager  curiosity ;  for  the  sounds 
of  the  arrival,  and  of  Mrs.  Wilder's  removal  from  the 
sleigh  to  the  bedroom,  had  reached  his  retreat,  but  all 
inthout  explanation.  Moreover  he  had  now  become 


138  A   NAMELESS  bOBLEMAN. 

so  accustomed  to  the  constant  companionship  of  his 
gentle  nurse,  and  so  interested  in  the  conversations 
they  constantly  kept  up,  that  he  had  been  very  lonely 
for  some  hours,  and  was  disposed  to  be  a  little  peev- 
ish in  consequence. 

Molly  perceived  the  mood,  and  with  ready  tact 
soothed  it  away  by  a  few  soft  and  half-caressing  words 
and  touches,  before  she  began  the  story  of  the  arrival 
and  her  mother's  illness ;  which  she  narrated  in  the 
detailed  and  minute  style  so  comfortable  to  an  invalid. 

But  the  quick  ear  of  the  listener  noticed  a  change 
'.n  the  voice,  a  weariness  in  the  manner,  and  a  hidden 
«are  in  the  look  of  the  girl's  face ;  and,  when  she  had 
4nished  all  her  little  story,  he  took  her  hand  in  his, 
*nd  said,  — 

"  And  what  else,  sweet  one  ?  " 

"What  else,  Francois?    What  do  you  mean?  " 

"Tell  me  what  lies  behind  all  this?  The  arriert 
pensec  we  call  it ;  and  I  know  not  how  to  say  it  in  Eng- 
lish, nor  yet  in  our  new  language." 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you,  Francois  ! "  exclaimed  the  girl 
vehemently.  "  I  cannot  endure  the  idea  of  cheating 
my  father  another  moment.  He  has  heard  of  the 
search,  and  he  said  they  did  not  know  me  if  they 
ihought  I  would  deceive  him ;  and  he  looked  into  my 
face,  and  my  silence  told  him  a  lie  if  my  tongue  did 
not.  I  never  lied  before  since  I  was  a  little  child ; 
and  I  feel  so  guilty,  so  mean,  so  base  !  Francois,  I 
cannot  do  it ! " 

She  twisted  her  hands  together,  and  clinched  her 
teeth  to  keep  down  the  rising  emotion.  Not  twice 


AND    VALERIE?  139 

n  one  day  should  such  weakness  master  that  calm  and 
Assured  mind ;  not  twice  in  one  day  should  man  look 
upon  Mary  Wilder's  tears.  A  brief  silence  ensued, 
and  then  Fran?ois  coldly  asked,  — 

"  And  what  do  you  intend  to  do,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  To  tell  my  father  that  you  are  here,  and  trust  to 
his  good  heart  and  discretion.  That  is,  I  should  do 
so  if  I  only  thought  of  my  own  wishes ;  but  I  prom- 
ised you  that  I  would  not  tell  any  one." 

"You  did  promise  so,  and  I  believed  you." 

"  Believe  me  still,  then ;  for  I  have  net  betrayed  you 
by  word,  or  Iook3  or  silence." 

"You  are  only  preparing  to  do  so." 

"  Not  without  your  leave,  Francois.  I  cannot  take 
back  or  break  my  promise  if  you  hold  me  to  it ;  but 
you  will  not  be  so  cruel,  will  you? " 

"  Oh  !  rest  content,  mademoiselle :  I  hold  you  to 
nothing  that  your  so  sensitive  conscience  holds  wrong. 
Betray  me  if  you  will,  and  as  soon  as  you  will.  I  dare 
say  the  jails  are  comfortable  enough  in  your  little 
town  of  Boston ;  and  I  may  be  exchanged,  or  the  war 
may  cease,  before  I  am  very  old.  Go  and  call  the 
respectable  Monsieur  Wilder  as  fast  as  possible,  I  pray 
you." 

And,  awaiting  this  event,  Francois  threw  himself 
over  upon  his  other  side,  with  small  care  for  his 
broken  arm,  and  lay  with  his  back  to  Molly,  silent 
and  forbidding,  as  if  counting  her  already  an  enemy. 

She  sat  very  still,  and  looked  at  him ;  the  feeble 
light  of  the  candle  showing  the  wan  whiteness  of  her 
face,  the  brightness  of  her  fixed  eyes,  and  the  hands 


140  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

so  tightly  clasped  upon  her  knee.  Three  long  minutes 
ticked  themselves  away  upon  the  watch  hanging  at  the 
head  of  the  bed ;  and  Francois,  unable  to  endure  the 
utter  silence,  threw  himself  back  into  his  former  posi- 
tion, looked  keenly  at  the  statuesque  figure  beside  him, 
and  mockingly  asked,  — 

"What !  not  gone  yet,  mademoiselle?" 
"You  are  wrong  and  cruel  to  treat  me  so,  Fran- 
£ois  ! "  exclaimed  Molly,  in  a  voice  sharpened  by  pain 
and  the  sense  of  wrong :  "  I  have  not  showed  myself 
so  weak  or  so  treacherous  as  you  seem  to  wish  to  think 
me." 

"  It  is  needless  to  remind  me  of  my  obligations  to 
you,  mademoiselle.  I  am  crushed  beneath  their 
weight  already,  and  only  wish  there  were  a  possible 
way  of  repaying  them." 

"And  you  think  I  am  taunting  you  with  your  obli- 
gations, as  you  call  them?  "  exclaimed  Molly  in  a  tone 
perilously  near  contempt :  "  how  little  you  know  me, 
and  I  thought  we  were  so  well  acquainted  !  A  traitor, 
a  liar,  and  mean  enough  to  recall  my  own  services  to 
one  willing  to  forget  them  !  Can  I  do  any  thing  for 
you  before  going  down  stairs?  " 
"  To  call  your  father  ?  " 

Molly  turned  away  with  no  reply  but  a  look  of  indig- 
nant reproach ;  and  Francois  caught  her  dress. 
"  Stay,  Marie  !    You  can  do  something  for  me.'.' 
"What  is  it?    Do  not  hold  my  dress,  please." 
"  You  can  forgive  me.     I  have  been  cruel  and  un- 
just ;  I  have  tortured  you  who  are  so  kind  and  patient 
with  me ;  I  have  been  unmanly,  childish,  I  know  not 


AND    VALERIE?  141 

what.  But  it  is  you  who  have  spoiled  me ;  no  one, 
not  my  mother,  not  any  one,  has  been  to  me  as  you 
have  been ;  and  I  repay  you  thus  !  Say  that  you  for- 
give me,  Marie." 

"Yes,  I  forgive  you,"  said  Molly  wearily. 

"  Not  that  way,  not  so  coldly  and  sadly  !  Give  the 
bad  child  the  child's  kiss  of  forgiveness  here  upon  his 
brow ;  ah,  do  !  sweet  Marie  !  " 

"  No,  Francois  !  you  are  not  a  child,  and  I  cannot 
treat  you  as  one, — not  in  that  way,  at  any  rate." 

"  Then  treat  me  as  a  man,  and  kiss  me  because  I 
love  you,  Marie,  darling  Marie,  my  Marie  !  " 

He  seized  her  hand,  and  tried  to  draw  her  toward 
him.  She  did  not  struggle  or  resist,  only  standing  in 
all  her  calm  stateliness  of  form,  looking  down  upon 
him,  she  said  in  quiet  scorn,  — 

"And  Valerie?" 


142  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

DR.   SCHWARZ. 

THE  next  morning,  when  Molly  at  length  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  time  and  opportunity  to  carry 
up  her  patient's  breakfast  without  observation,  she 
found  him  grave,  courteous,  and  rather  formal. 

She  had  expected  eager  questioning  as  to  her  pos- 
session and  knowledge  of  the  name  she  had  used  at 
their  last  interview,  and  whose  sound  had  so  aston- 
ished him  then  that  he  had  let  her  go  without  another 
word ;  but,  instead  of  this  questioning,  she  found  her- 
self confronted  by  a  certain  polished  reserve,  that  air 
of  high  breeding  at  once  the  most  intangible  and  the 
most  effective  of  weapons,  in  the  hands  of  those  who 
have  the  right  to  employ  it. 

But  Molly,  in  her  way,  was  as  proud  as  our  friend 
the  baron  in  his,  and,  replying  to  his  polite  speeches 
as  politely,  she  performed  her  wonted  services  with 
her  usual  faithfulness  and  dainty  nicety ;  and,  in  set- 
ting aside  some  portion  of  the  breakfast  to  serve  as 
lunch,  remarked  that  she  might  not  be  able  to  come 
up  again  before  the  noontide  dinner,  as  she  should  be 
busy  with  her  mother  in  all  the  time  possible  to  spare 
from  the  house. 

"I  am  truly  grieved  to  be  so  much  trouble,"  replied 


DR.  SCffWAKZ.  143 

Francois  courteously,  "  but  I  trust  it  will  not  be  foi 
very  long.  I  think  I  shall  attempt  my  escape  to-night 
or  the  next  night.  My  arm  requires  attention  which  I 
cannot  give  it,  and  it  is  as  well  to  risk  imprisonment 
as  the  loss  of  a  limb,  and  perhaps  death." 

If  he  thought  to  startle  her  out  of  her  calm  by 
either  of  these  announcements,  he  did  not  succeed ; 
perhaps  her  pale  face  grew  a  little  paler,  her  quiet 
voice  a  little  more  calm,  but  she  only  said,  — 

"  I  am  indeed  grieved  that  your  arm  is  worse.  A 
doctor  is  coming  this  morning  to  see  my  mother,  and 
if  you  choose  to  trust  him  "  — 

"  A  thousand  thanks  !  WiH  you  permit  me  to  re- 
mind you  of  my  wish  for  absolute  secrecy?  " 

"  I  only  mentioned  the  matter.  I  did  not  intend  to 
do  any  thing  without  your  permission." 

"  Then  if  you  will  be  so  very  good  as  to  do  nothing 
at  all ! " 

"Certainly.  I  must  leave  you  now.  Good-morn- 
ing." 

"Au  revoir,  mademoiselle." 

And  as  Molly  closed  the  door  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  and  turned  the  key,  her  prisoner  said  to  him- 
self,- 

"  Valerie  de  Rochenbois  would  never  make  so  stately 
a  dame  du  chdteau  as  this  country  girl.  Francois,  It 
baron  de-rien-de-tout,  is  not  the  idiotic  pride  of  birth 
washed  out  of  you  by  all  these  waters?  " 

Entering  the  kitchen  with  her  little  tray  of  dishes, 
Molly  was  met  by  her  father,  hastily  coming  in  at  the 
porch  door,  but  apparently  too  much  absorbed  in  his 


144  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

own  errand  to  notice  that  of  his  daughter,  whom  he 
eagerly  accosted. 

"  Here  is  the  doctor,  Molly,  to  see  thy  mother.  It 
is  not  the  man  I  sent  for  to  New  Bedford,  for  he  was 
away,  as  Friend  Haslow  writes  to  me ;  but  another, 
very  good  also.  He  is  a  Dutchman,  and  his  name  is 
Schwarz,  Peter  Haslow  says.  Here  he  is." 

The  stamping  of  snowy  feet  upon  the  step  an- 
nounced that  Dr.  Schwarz  had  followed  his  host  from 
the  barn,  where  their  first  interview  had  taken  place, 
and  where  he  had  lingered  to  watch  Amariah's  atten- 
tions to  his  horse,  whose  wet  coat  and  heaving  sides 
told  that  he  had  travelled  long  and  vigorously.  Molly 
regarded  him  with  some  curiosity ;  for  she  could  have 
counted  upon  the  fingers  of  one  hand  all  the  strangers 
who  ever  had  come  beneath  that  roof  since  her  re- 
membrance, and  this  Dutch  doctor  seemed  not  the 
least  peculiar  among  them.  A  tall,  stout  figure,  muf- 
fled in  many  coats,  capes,  and  comforters,  a  mass  of 
sandy  hair  floating  upon  the  shoulders,  and  mingling 
with  a  shaggy  beard  of  the  same  color,  a  monstrous 
pair  of  green  glasses :  these  were  her  first  impressions 
of  the  new  doctor,  who,  in  answer  to  Wilder's  greeting 
and  presentation  to  his  daughter,  replied  hi  fluent  but 
strongly  accented  English,  — 

"  I  kiss  your  hands,  dear  mees.  Is  the  lady  your 
mamma  no  better  yet?  " 

"No  better,  I  am  afraid,"  returned  Molly,  glancing 
at  the  speaker  in  some  surprise,  and  wondering  if  the 
German-English  was  always  so  like  the  French-Eng- 
lish, to  which  she  had  grown  accustomed  «  Will  you 
come  in  and  see  her  now?  " 


DR.   SCHWARZ.  145 

"Directly,  dear  mees.  May  I  take  off  the  coats 
first,  here  at  the  fire  ?  " 

The  coats  removed,  the  doctor  warmed  his  thin, 
dark  hands  before  the  blaze,  casting  curious  glances 
about  him,  from  behind  the  green  goggles,  as  Molly 
lather  felt  than  saw. 

"  Now,  then,  we  are  ready,  if  you  please,"  said  Dr 
Schwarz  suddenly;  and  Molly  led  the  way  into  th» 
bedroom,  where  the  invalid  was  eagerly  expecting  him. 
Standing  silently  beside  her  mother,  the  girl  listened 
intelligently  to  the  clear  questioning,  the  rapid  con- 
clusions, the  assured  diagnosis,  of  the  new  physician, 
and  settled  in  her  own  mind  that  here  was  a  very 
different,  a  much  more  advanced,  practitioner  than 
Dr.  Crake  at  the  Corners,  or  even  Dr.  Pilsbury,  the 
magnate  of  New  Bedford,  for  whom  her  father  had 
sent  before  arriving  at  home. 

"  It  is  rheumatic  fever  that  attacks  your  mother, 
mees,  and  danger  of  the  lungs  also,"  said  the  doctor, 
rising  from  his  seat  beside  the  bed,  and  leading  the 
way  into  the  kitchen,  where  Humphrey  Wilder  impa- 
tiently awaited  his  verdict. 

"Danger  of  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  do  you 
mean?"  asked  he,  catching  the  last  words. 

"Yes,  my  friend.  She  should  be  watched  for  th 
next  two  days  or  so,  very  carefully." 

"  By  a  doctor,  do  you  mean,  sir?  "  asked  Molly. 

"Precisely,  mees.  It  may  save  a  life  to  her,  to 
receive  certain  remedies  in  season." 

"  And  cannot  you  remain  with  us  for  the  space  of 
two  days?"  asked  Wilder  anxiously.  "  I  will  pay  you 
any  thing  in  reason  for  your  time  and  pains." 


146  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

Dr.  Schwarz  hesitated,  coughed  violently,  and 
walked  to  the  window  and  back.  Molly,  watching 
him  attentively,  asked  herself  what  motive  this  utter 
stranger  could  have  for  playing  a  part  among  simple 
country-folk,  not  rich  enough  to  attract  cupidity,  and 
with  no  secrets  in  their  lives  worth  any  man's  investi- 
gation ;  and  yet  some  instinct  of  her  nature  warned 
her  that  this  man  had  entered  her  father's  house  with 
a  purpose  other  than  the  avowed  one,  and  that,  in 
spite  of  his  apparent  reluctance,  he  had  every  inten- 
tion of  remaining.  The  suspicion  was  confirmed  when 
he  turned  around,  and,  looking  at  her,  said  to  her 
father,  — 

"  Well,  yes,  Master  vVilder,  as  they  call  you,  I  will 
see  the  good  wife  past  her  danger.  I  am  not  in  prac- 
tice anywhere,  so  am  not  tied;  but  in  passing  from 
New  Amsterdam,  where  I  live,  to  Boston,  I  staid  at 
New  Bedford,  and  introduced  myself  to  your  Dr. 
Pilsbury  there.  I  cannot  go  back  to  New  Bedford 
and  here  again  :  so,  if  you  wish  it  much,  I  will  remain 
two  days  and  nights." 

"We  shall  esteem  it  a  great  favor,  truly,"  said 
Wilder  calmly.  "  Molly,  you  can  prepare  a  bed  for 
Dr.  Schwarz,  can  you  not?  Perhaps  in  the  parlor." 

"He  shall  have  my  room  up-stairs,  father,"  said 
Molly  quietly ;  "  but  you  had  better  make  a  fire  in  the 
parlor,  where  he  may  sit  meanwhile." 

"  Not  so,  not  so,  my  friends,"  interposed  the  doc- 
tor hurriedly :  "  I  shall  go  to  walk  directly.  I  have  a 
passion  for  the  country  and  the  open  air.  I  shall  see 
as  much  of  it  as  possible  while  my  patient  needs  me 


DR.  SCHWARZ.  147 

not  No  parlor,  no  fire,  no  seclusion,  for  me,  if  you 
please.  In  the  house  I  shall  find  myself  most  happy 
in  the  sickroom,  or  here  in  this  admirable  kitchen." 

"  Sit  here,  then,  in  my  armchair,  friend,  and  tell 
me  how  you  of  New  Amsterdam  like  to  become  Eng- 
lishmen," said  Wilder  heartily;  and,  as  the  two  men 
settled  to  masculine  talk,  Molly  went  quietly  arounc1 
the  room  preparing  dinner,  attending  upon  her  mother, 
and  listening  to  every  word,  and  watching  every  mo 
tion,  of  the  mysterious  stranger. 

"  He  may  be  Dutch,  but  he  understands  French," 
said  she  to  herself,  as  she  caught  a  "  Pardieu!  "  un- 
consciously let  slip  in  the  heat  of  discussion. 

The  midday  meal  was  served  and  eaten ;  and  Dr. 
Schwarz,  after  a  brief  visit  to  this  patient,  declared  his 
intention  of  taking  a  long  walk,  and  proceeded  to 
muffle  himself  accordingly.  Molly  watched  him  with 
the  same  quiet  attention  she  had  bestowed  upon  all 
his  movements,  and  was  a  little  startled  when  he  sud- 
denly turned  upon  her,  as  her  father  preceded  him 
out  of  the  door,  to  ask,  — 

"  Well,  and  what  do  you  think  of  the  doctor  from 
New  Amsterdam?  " 

"  I  have  not  yet  made  up  my  mind,  sir,"  replied  the 
girl,  in  her  grave,  unmoved  manner. 

"Take  advice,  then,  my  charming  mees,  take  ad- 
vice upon  him,"  muttered  the  doctor  as  he  passed 
her ;  but  Molly  breathlessly  detained  him,  while  she 
demanded,  — 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?  Advice  of  whom?  Of 
my  mother?" 


148  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Not  so  much  of  her,  perhaps,  as  of  those  who 
have  seen  the  world,  who  know  how  a  Dutch  doctor 
should  appear;  who  —  how  should  I  know?  A  young 
lady  has  always  a  friend  of  whom  she  takes  advice." 

He  went  out  as  he  spoke,  leaving  Molly  in  a  be- 
wilderment of  doubt,  hope,  fear,  hesitation. 

"At  any  rate,  I  must  take  Francois  his  dinner,1' 
said  she  to  herself;  and,  first  seeing  that  her  mother 
was  comfortably  settled  for  a  possible  nap,  she  has- 
tened to  arrange  the  dainty  bits  reserved  from  the 
family  repast  upon  her  little  tray,  covered  with  a  clean 
napkin,  and  carried  them  to  her  prisoner. 

He  met  her  with  a  conciliatory  smile,  and,  taking 
the  tray  from  her  hands,  laid  it  down,  saying,  — 

"  It  is  not  to  eat  that  I  am  in  haste,  but  to  see  you, 
my  Marie  stern  and  sweet." 

"  And  I  have  news  for  you ;  but  I  cannot  stay  many 
minutes,  for  my  father  will  be  coming  in,  and  my 
mother  may  need  me,"  replied  Molly,  replying  with 
her  eyes  to  the  tender  smile  and  the  loving  words. 
"  Do  you  know  Dr.  Schwarz?  " 

"  Le  docteur  Schwarz  ?  No ;  and  I  hope  he  knows 
not  of  me." 

"  I  think  he  does,  or  at  least  suspects."  And  then 
Molly,  in  her  clear,  brief  style,  related  all  the  events 
of  the  morning,  not  forgetting  her  impressions,  the 
French  exclamation,  and  the  mysterious  counsel  given 
by  the  doctor  as  he  left  the  house. 

Francois  listened  to  all  attentively,  and,  when  the 
story  was  finished,  remained  for  many  moments  silent, 
his  head  between  his  hands  in  his  favorite  attitude  of 
reflection  :  at  last  he  said 


DR.  SCHWARZ.  149 

"You  are  always  right,  dear  Marie.  This  man  is  a 
spy ;  one  of  two :  first,  a  friendly  spy,  who  looks  for 
me  to  do  me  well ;  next,  an  enemy  spy,  who  would 
prison  me  for  twenty  dollars.  Either  it  is  one  whom 
I  know  would  look  for  me  if  he  were  himself  free,  or 
it  is  one  sent  by  this  Ayterfor  "  — 

"  Hetherford,  Francois." 

"  Eh,  Men  /  it  is  all  one ;  but  it  may  be  of  him,  and 
it  may  be  —  well,  and  what  next,  my  Marie?" 

"  That  is  what  I  want  to  ask  you.  I  have  arranged 
that  he  shall  sleep  in  my  room,  and  the  door  of  that 
is  close  to  the  foot  of  these  stairs :  now,  cannot  we 
contrive  that  you  should  see  him  as  he  comes  up  the 
stairs?" 

"Surely,  surely,  and  yet  —  say  to  me  one  time 
again,  how  does  he  look?" 

And  as  Molly  patiently  recapitulated  the  description 
of  the  stranger's  odd  physique  and  costume,  Francois, 
listening  attentively,  shook  his  head. 

"  Still  it  may  be  a  disguise,"  said  he  in  French,  and 
then,  seizing  Molly's  hand,  continued  to  her,  — 

"  Now,  see,  dear  little  one.  You  give  me  the  key  : 
I  go  down,  and  sit  on  steps  at  the  door  inside.  This 
man  come  up,  and  I  hear  his  talk  with  —  will  it  be 
you?" 

"  My  father,  I  suppose,"  said  Molly,  blushing  a 
little. 

"True,  true,  your  father.  Well,  the  risk  is  the 
more,  but  no  matter.  I  shall  look,  and  I  shall  listen  : 
if  it  is  my  man,  it  is  well ;  if  .not,  no  harm.  You 
understand  all  this,  cherie  )  " 


ISO  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Yes,  Francois ;  and  if  it  is  a  friend  he  will  help 
you  to  leave  us,"  said  Molly  heavily. 

"If  it  is  he  I  hope,  he  will  do  me  good  to  my 
arm,"  suggested  Francois;  and  Molly's  face  grew 
bright  and  hopeful,  as  he  had  fancied  it  would. 


LOYALISM  AND  LOYOLAISM. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

LOYALISM  AND    LOYOLAISM. 

IN  the  barn  Dr.  Schwarz  found,  as  he  had  expected, 
Amariah,  diligently  doing  nothing ;  and,  slipping  a 
bit  of  silver  into  his  hand,  said  cordially,  — 

"  Come  now,  my  fine  fellow,  and  show  me  the  walk 
I  ought  to  take." 

"Thank'y,  sir.  Why  had  you  ought  to  take  a 
walk?" 

"That's  another  thing;  and  you  have  not  studied 
physic,  have  you  ?  " 

"Well,  Idunno." 

"  It  is  British  and  it  is  rustic  to  ask  questions,  and 
to  evade  replies;  but  nevertheless  I  wish  to  walk, 
and,  if  you  are  the  good  fellow  I  think,  you  will 
show. me  the  way." 

"  Oh,  well !  I  don't  mind  a  walk,  though  you 
couldn't  well  miss  of  the  way  so  long  as  you  saw  this 
house,  or  Hetherford's  over  there." 

And  Amariah,  who  had  lounged  to  the  door  of 
the  barn,  nodded  toward  the  snow-covered  roof  and 
stone  chimney  mentioned  as  the  only  ones  in  sight. 
The  doctor  regarded  them  attentively  through  his  green 
goggles. 

"  And  that  is  Hetherford's,  is  it  ?  "  asked  he.    "  And 


152  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

who  is  Hetherford  himself?  Let  us  walk  that  way  as 
well  as  any  other." 

"  All  right,  master,"  replied  Amariah  placidly ;  and 
as  the  pair  strolled  along  the  snowy  track  the  old 
fellow,  who  dearly  loved  the  sound  of  his  own  voice, 
gave  his  attentive  listener  a  brief  sketch  of  Reuben 
Hetherford's  history,  including  his  futile  courtship  of 
Molly,  and  his  revengeful  attempt  to  annoy  and 
mortify  her  by  bringing  a  constable  to  search  the 
house  while  she  remained  alone  in  it. 

"  Frenchmen  ! "  interrupted  the  doctor  at  this  point. 
"  But  are  there,  then,  Frenchmen  about  here  ?  " 

"  Sho  !  You  must  have  seen  'em,  or  leastways  heard 
tell  of  'em  in  New  Bedford ! "  exclaimed  Amariah 
sceptically.  "  Why,  it  was  town's  talk  there." 

"Well,  but  New  Bedford  is  not  here.  What  has 
been  seen  of  them  here?"  asked  the  doctor;  and 
Amariah,  nothing  loath,  told  of  the  footsteps  beside  the 
well,  of  the  disturbance  of  the  hay,  and  of  the  knife 
or  dagger  in  Reuben  Hetherford's  possession. 

"Now,  but  that  is  curious  if  true,"  said  Dr. 
Schwarz.  "Is  not  that  the  man  going  to  his* barn 
now?" 

"Yes,  that's  him.    Want  to  see  him?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  it  is  as  well  to  hear  your  story  as  to  hear 
it  from  him;  and  yet  —  yes,  let  us  turn  in  and  speak 
to  him  a  little.  Say  that  I  am  the  Dutch  doctor  of 
New  Amsterdam  who  cures  your  mistress.  I  cannot 
speak  so  good  as  you,  friend  Amariah." 

"  That's  a  fact,"  replied  Amariah  complacently.  "  I 
never  see  a  Dutchman  that  could,  and  I've  seen  a* 


LOYALISM  AND  LOYOLAISM.  153 

many  as  half  a  dozen  in  my  day.  You  talk  as  good 
as  any  of  'em." 

"Yes,  we  all  talk  the  same,  I  know,"  replied  Dr. 
Schwarz,  with  a  little  inward  chuckle ;  and  then  they 
entered  the  barn,  and  Amariah  repeated  his  lesson  very 
faithfully.  Reuben  received  the  stranger  civilly,  having 
already  heard  of  his  arrival,  and  was  easily  led  into 
talk  of  the  late  shipwreck,  the  escape  of  some  of  the 
prisoners,  and  his  own  attempt  at  their  recapture.  Dr. 
Schwarz  listened  admiringly,  contriving  by  artful  ques- 
tions or  remarks  to  draw  out  all  of  information  or  ru- 
mor that  Hetherford  had  to  give. 

"These  French!  these  French!"  exclaimed  he  at 
length,  as  the  well  began  to  give  token  of  going  dry 
under  such  diligent  pumping.  "They  have  forever 
been  the  enemies  of  the  Dutch,  and  more  than  ever 
now  that  our  stadt-holder  has  married  your  princess, 
and  Holland  and  England  are  one,  and  France  the 
enemy  of  both.  Oh,  I  know  them,  I  know  them  well, 
the  murderous  villains  !  Why,  they  are  not  content  to 
kill  a  man  outright,  but  needs  must  poison  their  swords 
and  daggers,  so  that  even  a  scratch,  even  to  grasp  the 
handle  in  your  warm  palm,  is  death  by  torture.  Oh  !  I 
have  seen  it,  I  have  known  it  in  my  own  country." 

"  Sho  !    You  don't  say  ! " 

"There,  now  !  Listen  to  that ! "  exclaimed  Reuben 
and  Amariah  in  one  breath,  as  they  pallidly  stared  into 
each  other's  eyes. 

"  I  told  you  I  found  that  knife  in  Wilder's  bam," 
faltered  Reuben;  but  Amariah's  fright  was  not  suffi- 
cient to  allow  this  statement  to  pass  unquestioned. 


154  *  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"No,  you  didn't  find  it,  nuther!"  exclaimed  he. 
"  I  found  it,  and  you  took  it  away  from  me ;  and  now, 
if  you've  got  pizened  along  of  it,  I  dunno  as  I'm  to 
blame." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  it  any  longer.  You  can  have 
it  back  as  soon  as  you  like,"  said  Reuben  miserably. 
"  And  I  hope  no  harm's  done  yet.  Could  you  tell  if 
you  saw  it,  doctor,  whether  it  was  poisoned,  or  not?  " 

"That  depends,  my  friend.  There  are  poisons  and 
poisons,  you  know.  I  have  studied  these  matters  very 
much,  but  I  cannot  always  be  sure.  Show  me,  and 
I  will  tell  you." 

"  All  right.  I've  got  it  here  in  my  drawer."  And 
Reuben,  going  to  a  rude  standing  desk  where  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  keeping  account  of  his  hay  and  other 
crops,  unlocked  it,  and  produced  the  dagger  we  first 
have  seen  in  the  gardens  of  Montarnaud.  As  the 
eyes  of  Dr.  Schwarz  fell  upon  it,  he  made  a  slight 
movement  of  impatience,  and  extended  his  hand; 
then  checking  himself,  said  carelessly,  — 

"  Yes,  it  is  French.     I  see  that  at  first." 

"  Well,  look  at  it  close,  and  tell,  if  you  can,  whether 
it  is  poi^ned,"  insisted  Reuben,  pressing  it  into  his 
hand.  The  doctor  scrutinized  it  solemnly  lor  some 
time,  blade,  hilt,  and  especially  the  wavy  lines  ara- 
besqued  upon  its  surface. 

"  Ha  !  Do  you  see  those  words,  my  friend  ? " 
exclaimed  he  suddenly,  thrusting  the  dagger  under 
Hetherford's  eyes,  and  pointing  excitedly  to  the  half- 
obliterated  Latin  motto  beneath  the  crest  of  the 
Montarnauds. 


LOYALISM  AND  LOYOLA  ISM.  155 

"  I  thought  that  was  writing,  but  I  couldn't  quite 
make  it  out,"  said  Reuben,  trying  to  look  wise,  and 
only  looking  scared. 

"  Probably  you  do  not  read  Arabic,"  suggested  Dr 
Schwarz  considerately. 

"  Well,  no,  I  don't  know  as  I  do." 

"  Phen  of  course  you  would  not  read  here,  as  I 
do,  '  I  carry  the  message  of  the  cobra.'  That  means 
that  the  blade  is  so  imbued  with  the  venom  of  the 
deadliest  serpent  of  India,  that  its  merest  scratch  is 
certain  death.  And  you,  unhappy  man,  have  had  it 
lying  in  that  desk  among  loose  papers,  and  I  know 
not  what !  How  can  you  be  sure  that  you  are  not 
already  wounded?  " 

"  Wounded  !  "  shrieked  Reuben,  minutely  survey- 
ing his  red  and  callous  hands ;  "  I  don't  see  any  thing, 
but —  here,  you  look,  doctor  !  " 

"First,  let  me  put  this  evil  thing  out  of  harm's 
way,"  replied  Dr.  Schwarz,  carefully  folding  the  dag- 
ger in  a  handkerchief.  "  You  do  not  want  any  thing 
more  to  do  with  it,  I  presume  ?  " 

"  Ludamassy,  no  !  Here,  what's  this  on  my  left 
thumb?  ain't  it  a  wownd?" 

"  Why  —  yes,  it  does  look  like  one.  Does  it  burn 
and  sting  with  sharp  thrills  of  pain?  " 

"I  —  don't  —  know.  I  never  thought  about  it  till 
now." 

"  I  dare  say  you  will  feel  it  to-night ;  and  if  you  do 
you  must  wrap  it  in  a  poultice  of  rye-meal,  with  an 
cnion  outside  it,  and  keep  it  very  warm  until  morning. 
I  don't  believe  it  is  poison ;  but,  if  it  should  be,  that 


156  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

will  be  the  best  thing  to  do :  nothing  will  do  much 
good,  I  am  afraid." 

"Oh,  Jehoakim!  A  pretty  night's  rest  I'll  get, 
watching  for  my  death,  may  be,"  groaned  poor  Reuben, 
as  pale  as  death,  and  already  grasping  his  scratched 
thumb  with  despairing  energy. 

"  But  I  hope  it  is  not  of  the  dagger  that  you  are 
hurt,"  suggested  the  doctor,  already  upon  his  way  to 
the  door,  having  achieved  his  errand.  "  I  shall  hear 
in  the  morning  from  our  good  Amariah  that  you  are 
quite  well,  I  hope ;  and  I  will  carry  away  the  dagger, 
and  destroy  it  in  a  way  that  none  but  medicos  under- 
stand. It  is  not  safe  to  leave  it  in  the  world." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  the  hateful  thing  again,  nor  I 
don't  suppose  Amariah  does,  either:  do  you,  'Riah?'' 
asked  Reuben,  gazing  at  his  thumb. 

"  Well,  I'd  like  to  try  it  onto  a  fox,  or  a  woodchuck, 
or  some  of  them  vermin.  I'd  like  to  see  how  it 
works,"  replied  Amariah  meditatively ;  but  the  doctor 
indignantly  turned  upon  him  in  the  interests  of  hu- 
manity, — 

"  What !  you  desire  to  torture  some  poor  innocent 
creature,  and  see  him  die  in  agony  for  your  own  curi- 
osity !  Now,  fie  upon  you,  Amariah  !  I  had  thought 
better  things  of  you  !  No  :  I  shall  destroy  the  dagger 
so  soon  as  I  come  at  the  means,  and  it  shall  not  do 
more  harm  to  nobody  in  this  world." 

Silenced,  if  not  convinced,  Amariah  followed  his 
guest,  who,  already  satisfied  with  the  walk  he  had  so 
clamorously  demanded,  was  striding  down  the  snowy 
road  toward  the  Wilder  farm. 


THE  DOCTOR  PROBES  A   LITTLE.       157 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THE  DOCTOR  PROBES  A   LITTLE. 

A  MARIAH  !  It  is  time  you  were  milking  !  "  called 
jL\  Humphrey  Wilder's  placid  voice  from  the  barn 
as  the  two  men  approached ;  and  Mr.  Coffin,  noncha- 
lantly obeying  the  summons,  left  the  doctor  to  proceed 
to  the  house  alone.  Coming  in  from  the  dull  and 
chilly  twilight  of  out-of-doors,  the  kitchen  with  its 
clean-swept  hearth,  brilliant  fire,  and  odor  of  cleanli- 
ness, looked  a  little  paradise  of  content ;  and  Tabitha 
seated  squarely  in  the  middle  of  the  rug  before  the 
fire,  her  shoulders  up  to  her  ears,  her  eyes  half  closed, 
her  paws  tremulously  sheathing  and  unsheathing  then* 
claws  in  the  fulness  of  her  delight,  seemed  the  ruling 
genius  of  the  place. 

Dr.  Schwarz  stood  looking  about  him  with  a  smile 
for  some  moments,  and  then  throwing  aside  his  wraps, 
approached  the  fire,  saying,  — 

"A  poor  shipwrecked  fellow  might  be  very  well 
contented  here,  to  be  sure." 

The  door  toward  the  front  of  the  house  hastily 
opened,  and  Molly  Wilder  entered  softly  and  swiftly ; 
but  at  sight  of  the  motionless  figure  beside  the  fire 
hesitated  slightly,  and  colored  a  little.  The  keen  ob- 
server behind  the  green  goggles  smiled  also. 


1 58  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  I  have  startled  you !  You  thought  to  find  the 
room  empty  as  you  left  it.  You  were  careful  not  to 
make  a  noise  to  let  the  mother  hear  you,"  said  he 
quietly. 

Molly  regarded  him  uneasily,  and  made  no  reply. 
The  doctor  smiled  again,  and  followed  her  to  the  other 
end  of  the  room. 

"  Have  you  taken  my  advice  ?  "  asked  he  softly. 

"What  advice,  sir?" 

"  I  advised  you  to  seek  help  in  forming  an  opinion 
of  me,  me,  myself:  I  advised  you  to  describe  all  that 
I  say  and  do,  me,  the  queer  Dutch  Dr.  Schwarz,  late 
of  Leyden,  Holland,  and  see  what  one  thinks  of  me." 

"I  — I  do  not  understand,"  stammered  Molly. 

"  Fie,  now,  my  dear  young  lady  !  that  is  not  worthy 
of  such  honest  eyes,  and  so  brave  a  mouth  !  See,  I 
will  tell  you  a  secret  if  you  will  keep  it  for  me." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  ought  to  keep  it." 

"  Yes.  It  harms  no  one ;  it  concerns  no  one  but 
me,  and  another,  and  perhaps  you  a  little." 

"  I  will  try  to  keep  it." 

"  I  trust  you.     See  this  dagger  ! " 

He  suddenly  drew  it  from  his  pocket,  and  laid  it 
upon  the  dresser  against  which  she  leaned.  Mary 
flushed  scarlet  with  surprise,  but  said  nothing,  nor 
offered  to  touch  it. 

"  You  have  seen  that  before  ?  "  asked  Schwarz. 

"Never." 

"  But  it  was  your  servant  who  found  it  in  this  barn." 

"  I  know  that  he  did,  but  I  never  saw  it." 

"Truly  1    Well,  this  knife  belongs  to  a  dear  friend 


THE  DOCTOR  PROBES  A   LITTLE.        159 

of  mine  who  is  lost.  I  am  here  to  search  for  him ; 
since,  by  some  stories  I  heard  at  New  Bedford,  I  judge 
that  he  is  somewhere  here  concealed.  Now,  I  ask  no- 
body to  betray  a  secret  they  have  promised  to  keep. 
As  I  trust  you  now,  so  he  may  have  trusted  you ;  and 
you  would  be  burned  alive  sooner  than  betray  a  trust. 
See  how  I  read  your  face  !  But  still  if  that  man,  my 
friend,  knew  that  I  am  here,  knew  that  I  am  ready  to 
carry  him  away  to  a  place  of  safety,  he  would  be  very 
glad.  If  one  could  find  him,  and  place  this  dagger  in 
his  hands,  and  say, '  The  friend  who  once  before  brought 
you  this,  now  sends  it  to  you,  and  is  waiting,  as  he 
waited  then,  to  help  you,'  —  if  one  could  say  that  to 
this  mail,  I  think  it  would  be  doing  him  good  service." 

Without  a  word,  but  with  a  long  and  steady  look 
into  the  face  so  near  her  own,  Molly  took  up  the 
dagger,  wrapped  it  again  in  the  doctor's  handkerchief, 
and  placed  it  in  her  pocket. 

"Molly!  Molly!  Where's  that  man?  I  feel  a 
deal  worse,"  cried  the  invalid  from  the  bedroom. 

"  Here,  madam,  and  coming  so  soon  as  the  hands 
are  duly  warmed,"  replied  Schwarz,  returning  to  the 
fire ;  but  Mary  detained  him. 

"Are  you  really  a  doctor?  "  demanded  she  sternly : 
"  you  are  not  surely  daring  to  trifle  with  my  mother's 
life!" 

"  No,  no,  good  child,  a  thousand  times  no,"  replied 
the  stranger  warmly  :  "  I  am  not  indeed  a  physician  by 
diploma;  but  I  have  studied  much  in  helping  my 
friend  to  study,  for  he  is  truly  an  accomplished  physi- 
cian, and  I  am  utterly  competent  to  crre  the  excellent 
mother.  —  Now,  madam,  I  come." 


160  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAJ* 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

THE  JOY  OF  MEETING. 

SEATED  beside  his  patient's  bed,  and  gravely  lis- 
tening to  all  her  maundering  complaints,  Dr. 
Schwarz  nevertheless  saw  and  heard  with  a  smile  of 
good-humored  malice  Molly's  quiet  exit  from  the 
kitchen,  and  made  himself  so  agreeable  to  her  mother 
that  the  good  lady  never  remembered  to  peevishly 
call,  "Molly,  Molly,  I  say!  What  is  thee  about?" 
as  she  had  done  nearly  every  five  minutes  of  her  wak- 
ing hours  since  she  had  been  ill. 

By  and  by  the  door  opened  as  quietly  as  it  had 
closed,  and  Molly's  light  step  was  heard  moving  about 
the  kitchen,  in  attendance  to  her  ordinary  duties. 
Dr.  Schwarz  wound  up  his  rambling  description  of 
the  manners  of  Dutch  mothers  very  briefly,  and,  stroll- 
ing into  the  outer  room,  placed  himself  in  the  young 
girl's  way  with  an  air  of  expectation ;  but  she  sur- 
veyed him  with  calm  and  abstracted  gaze,  and  when 
he  ventured  softly  to  say,  "  Well,  what  of  the  dagger, 
my  child  ?  "  she  sweetly  and  innocently  replied,  — 

"  Oh  !  I  have  just  put  it  safely  away.  Did  you  want 
it  again  so  soon  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  but "  — 

"  Yes,  mother !  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  my  mother 
calls" 


THE  JOY  OF  MEETING.  l6l 

Nor  could  the  doctor  find  another  moment  for  pri- 
vate speech  with  this  artless  and  simple  young  crea- 
ture from  that  moment  until  about  nine  o'clock,  when 
Humphrey  Wilder,  after  fully  enjoying  a  prodigious 
gape,  said  to  his  guest,  — 

"When  you  would  like  to  go  up-stairs,  doctor,  I 
will  show  you  your  bedroom." 

"  Now,  if  you  please,  directly,"  exclaimed  the  doc- 
tor with  much  alacrity :  "  I  will  but  say  good-night  to 
my  patient,  and  leave  her  in  your  hands  until  the 
morning,  unless  some  change  occurs.  The  baths  of 
hot  spirit  may  be  continued  "  — 

"That  reminds  me,  Molly,"  interposed  her  father, 
"  to  ask  how  you  could  have  disposed  of  more  than 
half  that  case-bottle  of  strong  waters?  I  got  your 
little  billet  by  Amariah,  asking  me  to  fetch  some  more, 
and  I  did  so,  but "  — 

"  Hush,  dear  father !  Do  not  worry  mother  with 
hearing  of  these  domestic  mishaps,"  murmured  Molly, 
laying  her  hand  upon  her  father's  lips,  and  coloring  a 
little  angrily  as  she  felt  the  keen  eyes  of  Dr.  Schwarz 
steadfastly  regarding  her  through  the  odious  green 
goggles. 

"  A  mishap  !  What !  did  you  spill  it  ?  "  persisted 
Wilder,  whose  mind  was  cf  that  honest  order  which, 
not  entertaining  many  ideas  at  once,  does  full  justice 
to  each  as  it  comes  forward. 

"  Why,  after  a  fashion,  yes,  father,"  said  Molly,  with 
a  short  laugh.  "  But  no  more  on't  now,  I  pr'ythee  ; 
for  our  guest  is  waiting,  and  I  would  look  once  more 
to  his  lodging  before  he  goes  up-stairs." 


162  A    NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"I  doubt  not  that  all  is  well  prepared  already, 
maiden,  but  perhaps  there  is  some  final  touch  that 
might  not  be  given  until  the  moment  of  my  appearing 
on  the  scene,  so  in  God's  name  go  and  give  it ;  and 
if,  like  a  fortress,  you  have  a  signal,  a  watchword  for 
the  night,  let  it  be  for  this  time,  '  An  old  friend  ! ' 
Say  that,  as  you  make  those  last  preparations  up-stairs, 
and  all  will  go  well." 

During  this  somewhat  mysterious  speech  Wilder 
had  obeyed  a  summons  from  his  wife,  who  desired  a 
pillow  raised  a  trifle,  and  then  replaced  exactly  as  it 
was  before,  and  now  stood,  candle  in  hand,  patiently 
waiting  while  Molly  fled  up  the  stairs  swift  as  a  young 
deer,  and  the  doctor  went  to  pay  his  parting  visit  to 
his  patient. 

"All  is  ready  now,  father,"  announced  the  girl, 
re-entering  the  room,  her  cheeks  lightly  colored  by 
some  strong  emotion,  but  her  eyes  fearless  and  bright 
as  they  met  the  doctor's  shrewd  gaze,  while,  with  the 
courtesy  of  that  age,  he  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips  in 
saying  good-night. 

"  A  brave  girl,  an  heroic  girl,  fit  to  be  the  wife  of  a 
noble,  and  the  mother  of  heroes  —  if  the  noble  only 
thought  so,"  muttered  the  doctor,  following  his  host 
up-stairs,  and  on  the  landing  pausing  to  look  keenly 
about  him,  and  say  aloud,  — 

"You  have  quite  a  large  house,  Master  Wilder; 
many  rooms  not  always  in  use,  I  perceive." 

As  the  accents  of  his  sonorous  voice  resounded 
through  the  silent  spaces  about  him,  the  door  of  the 
garret  stairway  opened  silently  a  very  little  way,  and  an 


THE  JOY  OF  MEETING.  163 

eager  eye  peeped  out.  Schwarz  saw  it,  and  said  noth- 
ing: Wilder  did  not  see  it,  and,  going  forward  into 
the  bedroom,  complacently  replied,  — 

"  Why,  yes,  it  is  a  pretty  good  house,  doctor.  You 
see,  when  we  built,  nigh  twenty  years  ago,  Molly  was  a 
baby,  and  we  hoped  that  God  would  send  us  more 
children;  so  we  framed  the  house  to  accommodate 
them.  But  He  did  not  see  fit  so  to  do ;  and  we  have 
never  finished  more  than  this,  which  is  Molly's  bed- 
room. But  when  she  marries  our  neighbor,  Reuben 
Hetherford,  he  is  to  come  here  to  live ;  and  they  will 
finish  off  the  other  rooms,  and  inhabit  them.  That  is, 
always,  if  God  so  wills." 

"  But  this  Hetherford  is  a  mean  fellow,  and  a  cow- 
ard," objected  the  doctor.  "  It  is  he  who  brought  the 
constable  to  search  thy  house  and  insult  thy  daughter. 
I  heard  of  his  boastings  and  threats  in  the  matter,  and 
of  the  knife  he  had  found,  and  all  the  silly  story, 
before  I  came  to  Falmouth." 

"I  know,  friend,  I  know,"  replied  Wilder  with  a 
slow  and  puzzled  look  upon  his  honest  face.  "  That 
is  a  matter  to  inquire  into,  and  verily  I  am  prompted 
by  nature  to  be  exceeding  wrathful;  but  this  mar- 
riage is  a  matter  long  settled,  and  Deborah,  my  wife, 
has  set  her  mind  upon  it,  and  when  her  mind  is  set 
she  does  not  often  give  up  her  way ;  and  "  — 

"But,  friend,  every  man  should  be  master  of  his 
own  house,  and  every  father  should  guide  his  own 
child;  and  surely  you  never  will  allow  your  wife  to 
sacrifice  this  fine  girl  to  a  wretched  little  spy,  who  — 
But  we  shall  speak  more  of  this  to-morrow  if  you  will 


1 64  ^   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

it  is  too  cold  to  keep  you  standing  here ;  so  good-night, 
my  worthy  host,  good-night." 

"Good-night,  friend.  It  is  but  a  cheerless  room 
surely ;  and  yet  my  little  Molly  sleeps  here  the  winter 
through." 

"  Then  I  should  be  ashamed  to  speak  of  the  cold," 
said  the  doctor,  smiling  grimly ;  and  candle  in  hand  he 
followed  his  host  to  the  landing-place,  saw  him  well 
down  the  stairs,  heard  the  door  into  the  kitchen  close, 
and  then  without  looking  round  he  said  aloud,  — 

"  So  the  mot  d'ordre  for  the  night  is  '  An  old  friend,' 
and  the  countersign  should  be  "  — 

"  Constant  and  true,"  replied  a  voice  close  behind 
him,  and  the  next  moment  the  friends  were  locked  in 
each  other's  arms. 

"  Have  a  care,  mon  baron,  or  this  stupid  candle  will 
set  thy  curls  on  fire  ! "  exclaimed  the  abbe,  whom  we 
will  no  longer  thinly  disguise  as  Dr.  Schwarz ;  and  a 
mutual  laugh  relieved  the  emotion  which  with  two 
women  would  have  dissolved  in  tears. 

"  Have  a  care  yourself,  mon  abbe,  or  they  will  hear 
us  ! ''  whispered  Francois.  "  Let  us  go  into  your  room : 
for,  if  the  invalid  should  be  worse,  they  might  come  to 
seek  the  doctor,  and  you  can  hide  me  away ;  but  if 
you  were  up-stairs  in  my  priest's  chamber  "  — 

"Then  it  was  up-stairs  that  you  were  hidden  all  the 
time,"  interrupted  the  abbe".  "  Come,  my  son,  let  us 
get  into  the  bed,  and  cover  all  but  our  noses ;  then, 
while  they  are  slowly  freezing,  we  will  relate  and  listen 
lo  every  thing.  This  frightful  cold  congeals  my  very- 
ideas." 


THE  JOY  OF  MEETING.  165 

"And  yet  you  are  tolerably  protected :  even  the  top 
of  your  head  and  your  chin  are  covered  with  more 
than  their  natural  thatch,"  laughed  Francois,  plucking 
at  the  tow-colored  wig  and  beard.  "I  never  cher- 
ished very  profound  regard  for  thy  nose  before ;  but, 
truly,  I  am  compelled  to  love  it  now,  for  it  is  the  only 
morsel  of  thy  real  face  left  uncovered." 

"  If  it  will  make  thee  happier,  thou  shalt  see  the 
whole,"  replied  the  abb£,  pulling  off  wig,  beard,  and 
goggles,  and  displaying  his  own  close-cut  black  hair, 
well-shaven  chin,  and  dark  Provencal  eyes. 

"  Ah,  that  is  better ! "  exclaimed  his  pupil,  atten- 
tively regarding  him  by  the  light  of  the  flickering 
candle.  "  Why,  abbd,  thou  art  a  comely  fellow,  now 
that  I  look  at  thee  closely.  I  never  noted  it  before." 

"  I  can  believe  it,"  returned  the  abb£  in  gentle  sar- 
casm. "Thou  hast  been  so  occupied  in  admiring 
thyself,  thou  hast  had  no  eyes  for  me  until  now." 

"  Would  not  one  think  we  were  two  girls  fresh  from 
our  two  convents,  instead  of  men  who  have  oftener 
faced  death  than  the  looking-glass?"  laughed  the 
baron;  and  then  the  two  friends,  without  disrobing, 
hid  themselves  from  the  freezing  atmosphere,  beneath 
the  mountain  of  home-spun  blankets  and  woollen 
comforters  with  which  Molly  had  piled  the  bed. 

"And  now,  friend,  for  thy  story  first,"  said  Francois 
affectionately.  "  And,  to  begin  with,  where  didst  thou 
find  thy  disguise?  " 

"  The  wig  and  beard  were  bought  for  last  carnival- 
time  in  Rome,  and  the  coats  and  mufflers  from  a 
worthy  trader  in  this  fair  land,"  replied  the  abb6  com- 


1 66  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

placently.  "  When  we  packed  our  mails  to  leave  the 
Holy  City,  I  put  up  the  wig  and  beard,  thinking 
another  carnival  might  find  us  poorer  than  we  then 
were,  and  less  able  to  buy  the  means  of  amusing  our- 
selves. I  did  not  think  they  would  serve  in  so  merry 
a  frolic  as  we  had  the  other  night,  with  the  ice-cold 
waves  on  one  hand,  and  these  blood-thirsty,  or  rather 
dollar-thirsty,  provincials  on  the  other.  Well,  to  go 
back  to  the  time  when  we  reached  Ghent,  and  found 
that  the  Dutch,  instead  of  our  dear  allies,  had  become 
our  sworn  enemies,  and  joined  themselves  with  our 
hereditary  foes  the  English :  you  remember  how  you 
said  that,  although  you  never  would  set  foot  in  France 
again,  you  would  go  to  the  other  side  of  the  world 
and  fight  her  battles ;  and  so  we  attached  ourselves  to 
the  poor  '  Vainqutur]  so  terribly  vanquished  by  the 
winds  and  waves  of  Buzzard's  Bay,  as  they  call  the 
gulf  where  we  wtre  wrecked.  You  being  ranked  as 
surgeon,  and  I  as  chaplain,  we  each  were  allowed  our 
luggage ;  and  I  brought  along  the  Roman  chest  without 
unpacking  it.  When,  out  here,  the  captain  quietly 
told  us  that  the  ship  was  unmanageable,  and,  if  we 
escaped  death  among  the  rocks  toward  which  we 
drifted,  we  had  the  cheering  prospect  of  a  prison  or  a 
platoon  from  the  natives,  who,  like  all  colonists,  were 
more  bitter  in  the  quarrel  of  their  mother-country  than 
she  was  herself,  you  will  remember  that  we  went 
down  to  our  stateroom  to  select  such  matters  as  would 
serve  us  best  if  we  arrived  on  shore  alive.  You  took 
your  dagger,  your  silver  spoon  and  fork,  your  dressing- 
case,  and  some  clean  linen;  I  took  all  the  money 
remaining  to  us,  or,  rather,  to  you  "  — 


THE  JOY  OF  MEETING.  l6j 

"It  is  all  the  same  thing,  my  dear  abbe,  go  on,"  — 

"  My  breviary  and  this  wig,  for  I  rapidly  reasoned 
Ihus :  We  two  are  not  to  be  drowned  yet,  I  feel  it :  we 
are  then  to  be  prisoners;  if  so,  we  are  to  escape; 
after  escape,  nothing  is  more  necessary  than  a  good 
disguise ;  here  it  is,  allons  done  !  and  I  put  it  in  the 
pocket  of  my  breeches.  You  see,  my  baron?  " 

"I  see.    And  then?  " 

"And  then  the'  Vainqueur* vtzrti.  to  pieces  among 
the  rocks,  and  some  of  us  saw  you  swimming  like  a 
merman  toward  a  little  cove,  and  hoped  you  reached 
land  safely;  but  just  then  our  captors  came  off  in 
boats,  and  picked  us  who  remained  undrowned  off 
the  wreck,  agreeably  mentioning,  in  some  barbarous 
imitation  of  French,  that  we  were  prisoners,  and 
would  be  shot  if  we  attempted  an  escape.  I  am,  as 
you  know,  a  priest,  and  not  a  soldier ;  so  I  submitted 
with  such  grace  as  I  might,  but  was  careful  not  to  let 
it  be  discovered  that  I  spoke  English,  lest  I  should 
become  important  enough  to  be  looked  after  more 
closely  than  the  rest.  Happily,  no  one  betrayed  me ; 
and  our  captors  evidently  did  not  think  a  slender, 
beardless  fellow,  in  half  a  shirt  and  black  breeches, 
very  much  of  a  prize,  and  did  not  even  search  me. 
We  were  taken  to  some  log-cabins  and  mud-walls 
called  a  fort,  and  waited  there  several  days,  while  a 
man  rode  to  Boston  and  back  for  orders ;  and  while 
they  searched  the  country  for  you  and  two  or  three 
other  poor  fellows  who  swam  toward  shore,  and  may 
or  may  not  be  drowned  or  beaten  to  death  upon  those 
accursed  rocks. 


168  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"Finally,  four  days  ago,  they  marched  us  out  en  routt 
for  Boston,  their  principal  village  or  town,  I  believe ; 
and  on  the  road  I  succeeded  in  giving  them  the  ?1ip, 
and  hid  in  a  barn,  and  behind  hay-ricks,  and  in  the 
woods,  until  the  search  for  me  was  over,  and  the  con- 
voy passed  on.  Before  this  I  had  bought  a  coat  and 
a  muffler  of  a  countryman,  in  whose  house  we  stopped 
to  rest  on  the  first  day ;  and  now,  after  all  was  quiet, 
I  came  boldly  out  into  the  road,  having  first,  you 
understand,  assumed  my  disguise,  and  took  my  route 
for  this  place." 

"  What !  Running  back  to  the  prison  you  had  just 
escaped?" 

"  Running  back  to  the  friend  who  would  not  have 
deserted  me,  had  the  cases  been  reversed." 

"  It  is  true,  it  is  equal.  None  the  less,  I  thank  you 
heartily.  Go  on,  if  you  please." 

"  Well,  I  came  to  a  town  wherein  stood  a  tavern, 
and  to  the  tavern  I  boldly  betook  myself;  and,  being 
questioned  with  the  solemn  impertinence  characteriz- 
ing these  savages,  I  replied  that  I  was  a  Dutchman  of 
New  Amsterdam,  named  Schwarz;  and,  being  de- 
manded my  profession,  I  said  physician  for  want  of  a 
better." 

" '  Oh  !  going  to  visit  Humphrey  Wilder's  wife,'  sug- 
gested the  landlord,  who  headed  the  inquisitorial  tri- 
bunal. I  nodded  solemnly,  and  waited  to  hear  more, 
for  a  whole  chorus  of  women  broke  in;  and,  by 
good  use  of  my  ears,  I  soon  found  that  this  goodman 
Wilder  and  his  wife  had  parsed  through  the  place  in 
the  morning,  she  very  ill  and  he  very  scared,  and  that 


THE  JOY  OF  MEETING.  169 

he  had  mentioned  sending  to  New  Bedford,  a  place 
some  forty  miles  from  here,  as  I  understand,  for  a 
physician ;  and  then  they  again  demanded  of  me  if  I 
were  coming  in  his  place.  At  a  hazard  I  inquired,  — 

" '  Did  not  Master  Wilder  mention  the  consultation 
1  physicians  to  be  held  over  his  wife's  case  ? ' 

" '  No ;  but  I  dare  say  Dr.  Pilsbury  does  in  his  letter,' 
says  my  landlady,  producing  a  letter  from  her  pocket. 

" '  Oh,  there  is  a  letter  ! '  exclaimed  I,  holding  out 
my  hand  so  confidently  that  she  put  it  into  it  at  once ; 
and  I  as  unhesitatingly  pocketed  it,  saying,  'I  will 
go  over  to  Wilder's  directly,  then,  and  carry  the  letter 
myself;  for,  since  my  brother  Pilsbury  has  written,  he 
will  not  come  at  once.' 

"  The  argument  was  unanswerable  to  the  slow  bu- 
colic mind,  and  although  my  landlady  gasped  a  little 
she  did  not  object :  and  I  at  once  proceeded  to  hire 
a  sleigh  and  horse,  averring  that  I  had  left  the  stage- 
coach a  mile  or  so  from  the  town,  for  the  purpose  of 
visiting  a  friend ;  but,  as  three  mouths  opened  to  re- 
quire the  name  of  this  friend  and  a  description  of 
his  house,  I  stopped  them  by  demanding  in  turn  the 
details  of  some  hints  I  had  heard  thrown  out  in  the 
Wilder  matter,  and,  above  all,  what  they  had  to  do 
with  the  French  prisoners  of  whom  I  had  heard,  and 
upon  whom  I  expended  a  good  Hollandische  oath  or 
two ;  for,  you  know,  hatred  of  the  French  is  at  this 
moment  the  strongest  bond  of  union  betveen  the 
Dutch  and  English. 

"  Then  I  heard  the  whole  story  of  this  rascal  Heth- 
erford's  suspicions  and  discoveries,  and  of  his  calling 


I/O  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN 

upon  the  law  to  aid  him;  and  then  the  constable 
himself,  who  drank  a  grog  there  at  the  moment,  told 
his  part  of  the  story;  and  from  the  whole  I  easily 
understood  that  you  were  actually  hidden  here,  and 
that  this  good  girl  with  the  calm,  strong  face  was 
concealing  you.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  I  resolved 
to  come  to  this  house  to  see  the  sick  woman.  Before 
that,  I  had  no  further  intention  than  to  secure  a  vehicle 
and  some  pretence  for  driving  round  the  country,  in 
hopes  of  coming  upon  you  in  some  way.  But  all  this 
Hetherford  and  constable  matter  made  it  very  easy  for 
a  man  trained  in  the  Seminary  to  understand  the  whole 
plot  in  an  instant,  especially  when  I  gathered  that 
Mademoiselle  Marie  was  all  alone  in  the  house  i<y 
several  days,  and  also  nights,  after  our  shipwreck. 

"  So,  making  a  long  story  short,  I  opened  and  read 
good  Dr.  Pilsbury's  letter  of  regrets  that  he  could  not 
come,  and  at  the  bottom  wrote,  in  an  excellent  imita- 
tion of  his  crabbed  script,  a  postscript  recommending 
Dr.  Schwarz  of  New  Amsterdam.  I  came,  I  saw,  and 
I  conquered ;  for  I  am  here  with  you,  my  baron,  and 
the  horse  in  the  stable  waits  to  carry  us  away  when 
and  how  you  will." 

"  To  carry  us  away  ! "  echoed  the  baron,  in  a  tone 
so  unexpected  that  his  companion  turned  to  look  at 
him  in  the  darkness,  and  said,  in  a  half-offended 
tone,— 

"  One  would  say  you  were  sorry  to  go,  my  baron  1 " 


AND   THE  PAIN  OF  PARTING.  IJl 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

AND  THE  PAIN  OF  PARTING. 

AND  now  I  will  tell  you  my  adventures,"  ex- 
claimed Francois,  not  replying  to  the  semi- 
accusation  of  his  friend;  and,  plunging  with  some 
precipitation  into  the  history  already  so  well  known  to 
us,  he  rapidly  rehearsed  it,  dwelling  very  little  upon 
the  part  concerning  Molly,  and  a  good  deal  upon  the 
insolent  intrusions,  as  he  described  them,  of  Reuben 
Hetherford. 

"  But  he  is  the  betrothed  husband  of  this  young 
woman,"  remarked  the  abbe"  dryly,  "and  naturally 
feels  an  interest  in  her  connection  with  a  handsome 
young  man  whom  she  hides  in  her  bed-chamber." 

"  Betrothed !  What  nonsense  you  talk,  my  dear 
Despard ! "  exclaimed  Francois  a  little  imperiously. 
"  Mademoiselle  Marie  had  already  broken  any  such 
ties  before  I  had  the  honor  of  meeting  her." 

"  Nevertheless  her  father  told  me  to-night  that  she 
was  to  marry  him,"  persisted  the  abb£. 

"  She  will  not,  then,"  replied  his  friend  so  sullenly 
that  the  abb£  thought  it  best  to  defer  some  remarks 
not  likely  to  be  well  received  just  then ;  and  only  said 
with  a  good-humored  laugh,  — 

"Well,  we  need  not  settle  every  thing  to-night, 


172  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAM 

since  I  have  arranged  to  stay  here  another  day  and 
night ;  and  in  the  course  of  to-morrow  we  shall  see 
how  it  is  best  to  manage  our  departure.  Meantime 
let  us  sleep  a  little.  Will  you  remain  here  for  the  rest 
of  the  night?" 

"  Thanks,  no :  I  have  a  charming  little  priest's 
chamber  above  there,  and  will  leave  you  undisturbed 
in  this." 

"  Good-night,  then ;  and  do  not  forget  to  thank  God 
who  has  so  favored  us  thus  far,"  said  the  priest. 

"I  do  not  forget,  man  pere"  replied  his  former 
pupil  a  little  coldly,  and  went  his  way. 

The  reverend  Vincent  de  Paul  Despard  rolled  him- 
self comfortably  in  the  bed-clothes,  and,  addressing 
himself  to  sleep,  murmured  cynically,  "  I  have  loved 
him  fifteen  years  or  more,  and  saved  his  life  half  a 
dozen  times ;  and  she  has  known  him  one  week,  and 
already  puts  me  to  the  wall.  Well,  mon  petit  baron,  I 
have  seen  you  in  love  several  times  before  this." 

The  next  day  passed  in  the  quiet  farmhouse  much 
after  the  usual  manner,  that  is,  to  outward  seeming ; 
but  for  three  persons  beneath  that  roof  this  calm  exte- 
rior covered  a  whole  world  of  emotion,  peril,  and 
uncertainty.  When  Dr.  Schwarz  appeared  at  break- 
fast it  was  with  a  more  inscrutable  face  than  ever ; 
nor  did  he  attempt  any  private  conversation  with 
Molly,  who  could  not  yet  know  with  certainty  wheth- 
er he  was  the  friend  for  whose  advent  Francois  had  so 
eagerly  hoped.  The  somewhat  brief  and  silent  meaj 
finished,  and  the  doctor's  first  visit  paid  to  his  patient, 
he  accompanied  Mr.  Wilder  to  the  barn ;  and  Molly 


AND   THE  PAIN  OF  PARTING.  173 

sped  up  stairs  with  the  breakfast-tray  so  difficult  to 
prepare  without  observation. 

Francois  received  her  gently,  but  somewhat  sadly, 
and,  without  waiting  for  questioning,  said,  — 
"  It  was  he,  the  friend  for  whom  I  hoped." 
"And  is  his  name  really  Dr.  Schwarz?" 
"Names    are    of    little    consequence,    dear  child. 
Neither  he  nor  I  have  any  in  particular,  —  to-day  one, 
to-morrow  another.     Fortune  de  guerre,  my  girl ;  and 
he  hay  come  to  carry  me  away." 

"  And  you  are  glad  to  go,  I  suppose  ?  " 
"Who  would  not  suppose  so,  Marie?  " 
The  reply  was  no  answer ;  and  Molly  felt  it  so,  and 
busied  herself  silently  in  her  arrangement  of  the  little 
breakfast-table.     Francois  watched  her  for  some  mo- 
ments, then  suddenly  seized  her  by  the  hand ;  but,  as 
he  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  a  shrill  sudden  noise 
resounded   through  the  house,  and    Molly,  starting, 
cried,  — 

"  Tis  mother's  call.  I  left  all  the  doors  open,  and 
gave  her  a  stick  and  a  brass  kettle  to  beat  upon  if  she 
needed  me.  I  will  be  back  anon.r> 

"  Send  Dr.  Schwarz  up,  meantime,  if  it  please  you, 
sweetest,"  called  Francois  after  her;  and  for  once 
Molly  was  not  displeased  to  find  the  burly  figure  of 
the  doctor  standing  sentinel  before  the  kitchen -fire. 

"Will  you  go  up-stairs  for  a  few  moments,  sir?" 
asked  she  in  a  demure  whisper  as  she  passed  him. 

"  Does  Monsieur  le  Baron  send  for  me  ?  "  inquired 
Schwarz  in  the  same  tone,  and  with  a  smile  of  good- 
humored  malice  at  thus  winning  from  the  prudent 


C/4  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAM 

girl  a  confession  of  the  secret  she  had  so  jealously 
guarded  up  to  this  moment. 

'"Those  who  seek,  find,'"  replied  Molly  passing 
into  her  mother's  room,  and  meeting  as  best  she  could 
the  invalid's  querulous  questioning  and  complaints. 

Dr.  Schwarz  meanwhile  had  strolled  out  of  the  room 
and  up-stairs.  Francois  was  on  the  watch  for  him ; 
and,  first  of  all,  insisted  upon  taking  him  up  to  his 
own  rnuggery,  there  to  admire  the  various  devices  and 
thoughtful  attention  to  his  every  need,  managed  by 
Molly  out  of  such  slender  resources  and  scanty  space 
AS  she  could  command. 

Then  the  two  descended  to  the  door  at  the  foot  of 
the  garret-stairs,  and  there  held  their  conference  in 
such  wise  that  in  case  of  interruption,  each  could 
escape  in  the  direction  of  his  own  room  without  delay 
or  noise. 

"  First  of  all,  let  me  see  this  arm  of  thine,  mon 
baron"  said  the  abbe.  "  Yes,  yes,  it  needs  the  lancet, 
and  some  fresh  bandaging;  and  fortunate  is  it  that 
those  same  pockets  of  mine  held  our  case  of  surgical 
instruments  and  a  few  drugs.  Steady,  now,  my  friend ; 
there  !  I  would  I  could  call  upon  the  fair  Molly  for 
some  warm  water,  and  a  little  help ;  but  we  will  make 
it  do  with  a  drop  of  can  de  vie  to  take  off  the  chill. 
Now,  there,  all  is  comfortable,  is  it  not?  and  you 
can  sit  very  well  in  the  corner  of  this  stair,  and  get 
a  little  color  back  to  your  lips  before  we  talk." 

"Thanks,  good  friend.  I  did  not  use  to  be  so 
squeamish  over  there  hi  the  Pays  Bas" 

"You  have  been  pretty  well  knocked  about  of  late, 


AND   THE  PAIN  OF  PARTING.          175 

mon  baron  ;  and  ten  days  or  so  of  close  imprisonment, 
in  that  coop  above  there,  are  not  strengthening,  al- 
though possibly  delightful. 

"  And  now  for  our  plans.  I  think  that  in  the  earliest 
dawn  it  will  be  well  for  you  to  leave  the  house,  and 
secrete  yourself  in  a  little  lonely  cattle-shed,  or  it  may 
be  barn,  which  I  will  presently  show  you  from  the  win- 
dow of  my  bed-chamber.  Then,  directly  after  break- 
fast, I  shall  leave  this  place,  and,  arriving  opposite  the 
cattle-shed,  pause  to  attend  to  my  harness.  You  will 
jump  into  the  bottom  of  the  sleigh,  cover  yourself 
with  the  fur  robe,  and  an  instant  later  when  the 
sleigh  emerges  from  behind  the  building,  I  sit  erect 
and  alone  upon  the  bench  as  before." 

"  The  barn  will  hide  all  this  from  the  windows  of 
the  house,  you  are  sure  ? "  asked  Francois  medita- 
tively. 

"  Quite.  I  just  took  a  little  exploratory  tour  in  that 
direction." 

"  And  where  do  we  go  after  this? " 

"  To  Canada,  my  friend,  as  straight  and  as  speedily 
as  the  necessity  of  concealing  ourselves  from  the  offi- 
cial eye  will  permit.  We  have  plenty  of  louis  d'or, 
and  some  English  broad  pieces.  When  one  horse 
gives  out  we  can  buy  another ;  and  so  with  the  help 
of  a  good  deal  of  pardonable  lying,  which  I  take  upon 
my  own  conscience,  we  will  get  through  admirably." 

Francois  sighed.  "To-night!"  murmured  he  in  a 
melancholy  voice.  The  abb6  made  a  movement  of 
impatience,  and  suddenly  said,  — 

"  By  the  way,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  let  me  congratu 


176  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

late  you  on  your  birthday,  although  a  week  or  so  gone 
by.  Is  it  possible  that  it  is  seven  years  since  we  mer- 
rily kept  the  twentieth  in  the  dear  old  Chateau  de 
Montarnaud  ?  Do  you  remember  how  the  tenants  and 
vassals  all  nocked  to  the  chateau  to  drink  the  young 
baron's  health,  and  to  hope  that  he  would  marry  some 
noble  lady,  and  come  to  live  among  them?  And  per- 
haps you  may  yet,  man  baron" 

" Never,  man  abbe"  interjected  Francois. 

"And  Mademoiselle  de  Rochenbois,"  pursued  the 
priest  musingly,  "  how  lovely  she  looked  that  day,  as 
she  placed  the  olive-wreath  upon  your  head,  and  bent 
to  whisper  I  know  not  what  in  your  ear." 

"  Enough,  Per£  Despard,  enough  !  "  interrupted  the 
baron.  "  You  are  very  subtle,  and  you  have  only  my 
own  interests  at  heart ;  but  you  cannot  influence  me 
thus.  As  you  have  reminded  me,  I  am  to-day  a  man 
twenty-seven  years  old,  and  for  the  last  seven  of  those 
years  a  soldier  of  fortune.  The  story  of  those  years 
has  altogether  effaced  the  pride  of  birth,  the  appetite 
for  adulation,  the  hope  of  adorning  the  proud  name 
bequeathed  to  me,  —  yes,  even  the  memory  of  Valerie 
de  Rochenbois,  whose  name  I  speak  to-day  for  the 
first  and  the  last  time  since  we  turned  our  backs  upon 
the  land  that  holds  her,  and  speak  it  simply  to  show 
you  that  I  can  do  so.  No,  abb£,  you  are  very  clever ; 
but  it  is  not  thus  that  you  will  move  me." 

"Then  are  we  to  pack  three  persons  into  yonder 
little  vehicle,  and  so  make  sure  of  discovery,  imprison- 
ment, and  perhaps  death,  at  the  hands  of  a  Puritan 
mob?"  asked  Despard  sullenly. 


AND    THE  PAIN  OF  PARTING.  IJJ 

"  Wrong  again,  my  abb£.  I  will  not  take  my  wife 
away  from  her  father's  house  until  I  have  a  home  of 
my  own  to  offer  her." 

"  Your  wife,  monsieur !  " 

"  Not  yet,  but  so  to  be,  mon  pretre" 

"  Eh  bien  !  When  the  war  is  well  over,  no  doubt 
we  shall  travel  back  from  Canada  to  find  our  rustic 
bonne-et-belle,  and  no  doubt  she  will  have  waited  for 
us ;  and  the  golden  age  will  come  back  to  adorn  our 
nuptials.  Pray  celebrate  them  in  the  summer-time, 
that  all  the  sheep  and  pigs,  not  forgetting  Amariah, 
may  wear  wreaths  of  roses." 

"  Cher  abbe,  you  are  very  angry,  and  it  seems  to  me 
are  forgetting  yourself  a  little.  Suppose  we  separate 
for  an  hour  or  so ;  and,  when  we  both  have  our  tempers 
more  under  control,  I  have  a  further  proposition  to 
make  to  you." 

"  Pray  excuse  any  want  of  deference  I  may  have 
shown,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  either  to  you  or  to  the  fair 
Dulcinea  del  Toboso,  who  "  — 

The  violent  closing  of  the  door  in  Francois'  hand 
cut  short  the  priest's  apology  and  comparison ;  and 
with  a  wrathful  smile  upon  his  lips  he  went  down- 
stairs, and  posted  himself  doggedly  at  the  bedside  of 
lus  patient. 

"  The  sooner  they  get  together,  and  settle  the  man- 
ner of  our  triple  suicide,  the  better,"  muttered  he  in 
French ;  and  Mistress  Wilder  turned  feverishly  on  her 
pillow  to  ask, — 

"What  are  you  saying,  doctor? " 

"That  you  are  surprisingly  better,  madame.     Now 


1/8  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

please  to  tell  me  how  many  times  in  your  life  before 
this,  you  have  been  ill." 

Five  minutes  later,  Dr.  Schwarz  smiled  at  seeing 
Molly  steal  quietly  out  of  the  kitchen. 


THE  BETROTHAL.  1/9 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   BETROTHAL. 

CREEPING  softly  up  the  stairs  in  a  reluctant 
fashion,  most  unlike  her  usual  decisive  step, 
Molly  paused  outside  the  screen  covering  the  entrance 
to  the  "  priest's  chamber,"  and  timidly  peeped  through 
before  entering. 

Francois  sat  beside  his  little  table,  his  chin  in  hia 
palm,  his  eyes  set  in  such  earnest  meditation  that  he 
had  not  heard  her  light  approach.  Evidently  some 
thought  deep  and  painful,  leading  to  some  momentous 
resolve,  was  stirring  at  his  heart,  —  some  thought  that 
drove  the  color  from  his  cheek,  drew  his  brows  to- 
gether in  a  heavy  frown,  and  set  his  lips  so  sternly  that 
the  tawny  moustache  writhed  sardonically.  Suddenly 
he  straightened  himself;  and  with  an  airy  gesture  of 
contempt,  as  of  flinging  some  bauble  from  him,  he 
exclaimed  aloud,  — 

"  Adieu,  la  belle  France  !  La  belle  Valerie  !  Toutes 
les  bagatelles  de  man  enfance  /  Voila  une  belle  pay- 
sanne  "  — 

Part  she  understood,  part  she  guessed,  and  with  a 
gesture  as  haughty  as  his  own  she  turned  to  go  away ; 
but  the  light  rustle  of  her  garments  caught  his  ear,  and 
springing  forward  he  pulled  aside  the  curtain,  and, 


180  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

seizing  her  hand,  drew  her  toward  him  so  confidently, 
almost  rudely,  that  she  released  herself,  saying  cold- 

iy,- 

"What  is  the  matter,  Francois?  I  came  only  to 
ask  what  provision  I  shall  make  for  your  journey. 
You  will  need  food,  for  you  must  avoid  the  publics  in 
this  part  of  the  country ;  and  you  must  have  plenty  of 
warm  clothing,  and  "  — 

"  I  need  and  must  have  something  far  more  valu- 
able than  food  or  clothes,  belle  et  chere  Marie,"  inter- 
rupted Francois,  attempting  to  put  an  arm  about  her 
waist ;  but,  drawing  back,  she  said  yet  more  coldly,  — 

"  Your  pleasure  in  quitting  this  poor  place,  sir,  puts 
you  beside  yourself.  What  is  this  that  you  wish  for, 
then?" 

"  O  Marie,  be  not  so  coy,  so  chill !  Do  not  trifle  in 
these  few  last  precious  moments.  You  know  very  well, 
sweet  one,  what  it  is  I  want :  it  is  you,  my  darling, 
your  own  dear,  stern,  yet  most  tender,  self.  Marie, 
you  love  me,  do  you  not?  " 

"  You  take  too  much  for  granted,  sir ;  and  I  like  not 
this  style*  of  talk,  hidden  away  here  in  my  father's 
garret.  The  man  who  woos  me  must  do  it  openly." 

"  But,  Marie,  you  know  how  that  is  impossible.  If 
I  come  down  these  stairs,  and  declare  myself  to  thy 
father,  what  choice  do  I  leave  the  good  man  but  either 
to  deliver  me  with  my  friend  up  to  government,  or 
brand  himself  forever  as  a  traitor,  forfeiting  land  and 
liberty,  nay,  it  may  be  life,  it  he  lets  us  go?  Will  you 
destroy  your  father  as  well  as  your  lover  and  his  best 
friend,  Marie?" 


THE  BETROTHAL.  l8l 

"  No,  I  will  not  do  that,"  said  Molly  tardily ;  and  a 
look  of  perplexity  softened  the  rigor  of  her  brow. 
The  man  saw  his  advantage,  and  pushed  it :  — 

"You  would  rather  sacrifice  yourself,  dear  saint: 
but  that  you  cannot  do  without  sacrificing  at  least  one 
life  with  yours ;  for  I  swear  to  you,  Marie,  I  swear  it 
on  this  crucifix,"  —  and,  drawing  from  his  breast  the 
golden  and  jewelled  crucifix  his  dying  mother  had 
hung  there,  and  which  had  never  left  his  neck,  the 
young  man  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and  held  it  in  his 
hand  as  he  continued,  — "yes,  I  swear  upon  this  sacred 
emblem  that  I  will  never  leave  this  place  again  until 
you  have  not  only  given  me  heart  for  heart,  Marie, 
but  have  promised  to  become  my  wife  when  I  shall 
claim  you." 

"  O  Francois  !  Wicked,  foolish,  unkind  !  How 
dare  you  so  take  the  name  of  God  in  vain?  Think 
what  you  say !  Suppose  I  do  not  give  these  crazy 
promises  and  assurances  which  you  have  no  right  to 
demand,  what  will  you  do?  Spend  the  rest  of  your 
life  here,  pr'ythee  ?  " 

"  Spare  your  scorn,  ma  belle :  I  speak  no  more  than 
I  mean,  and  can  carry  out.  What  will  I  do,  say  you  ? 
Not  stay  here,  in  truth  !  I  am  tired  of  playing  a  rat's 
rdle,  and  hiding  in  a  garret.  Why,  truth  of  me,  Marie, 
I  am  growing  afraid  of  your  Tabby  already.  No,  if  I 
once  am  convinced  that  Marie  refuses  my  love,  and 
scorns  my  offer  of  marriage,  I  will  not  indeed  leave 
this  garret,  since  I  have  sworn  not,  but  I  will  come 
out  and  dance  a  gavotte  upon  those  loose  boards 
yonder,  and  company  myself  with  so  blithe  a  song, 


1 82  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

that  not  only  your  venerated  father,  but  Amariah, 
whom  I  really  long  to  see,  and  Tabitha,  and  perhaps 
ma  dame  your  mamma  herself,  will  come  rushing  up 
to  see  what  demon  has  taken  possession  of  their 
house.  Then  I  shall  say  that  I  have  hidden  myself 
here  quite  altogether  with  nobody's  knowledge,  but 
•Hat  I  find  voluntary  imprisonment  as  bad  as  involun- 
tary, and,  besides,  desire  most  ardently  to  visit  the 
village  of  Boston,  and  so  give  myself  over  —  what ! 
O  Marie,  Marie,  forgive  me,  sweet,  forgive  me  ! "  For 
Molly,  hurt,  frightened,  perplexed,  above  all  beset  by 
a  new  and  nameless  sorrow  gnawing  at  her  heart  by 
day  and  night  ever  since  the  baron's  flight  had  seemed 
imminent,  suddenly  broke  down,  and,  sinking  into  a 
chair,  laid  her  pretty  arms  upon  the  table,  and  her 
face  upon  them,  and  began  sobbing,  not  noisily,  but 
in  the  deep  grieved  fashion  of  a  loving  yet  reticent 
heart,  wrung  beyond  endurance. 

Before  that  sight  and  sound,  the  bitter  mockery  of 
the  young  man's  mood  fled  away  like  fog  before  the 
west  wind,  and  left  the  clear  depths  of  his  better 
nature  open  to  God's  dear  light. 

Kneeling  beside  the  weeping  girl,  yet  not  daring  to 
touch  her,  save  a  timid  finger  upon  her  arm,  he 
pleaded  his  cause :  I  know  not  how,  she  knew  not 
how,  yet  so  successfully  that  after  a  little  the  noble 
head  rose  slowly,  and  the  brimming  eyes  met  his  with 
a  smile  so  shy  and  proud,  and  withal  so  sweet,  that 
the  lover's  arms  fairly  quivered  in  their  longing  to 
grasp  and  claim  that  loveliness,  yet  dared  not  stir, 
lest  the  dear  smile  should  vanish. 


THE  BETROTHAL.  183 

"  Marie  !  I  love  you,  I  love  you  dearly  !  Will  you 
be  mine  honored  wife  ? "  whispered  he ;  and  Molly, 
still  smiling  yet  unbending,  replied,  — 

"  Why,  that  is  better,  Francois  !  At  first  you  would 
have  had  me  confess  to  loving  you,  and  now  it  is  you 
who  say  you  love  me." 

"  Yes.  I  was  wrong  at  first.  O  child  !  you  are  cruel, 
you  torture  me,  it  is  not  worthy  of  you :  you  are  not 
of  the  women  who  play  with  men's  hearts,  and  fling 
them  away ;  you  are  strong,  you  are  brave,  you  are 
noble.  Be  worthy  of  yourself  in  this  moment,  Marie. 
Answer  my  true,  deep  love,  truly  and  honestly." 

He  said  no  more,  but  rose  to  his  feet,  pale  and 
eager,  yet  with  a  sudden  dignity  upon  him  which 
Molly  had  never  felt  before.  The  blood  of  genera- 
tions of  nobles,  of  men  who  loved  honor  better  than 
life,  and  women  who  armed  their  husbands  and  sons 
for  battle,  and  held  their  castles  against  the  foe  in 
their  absence,  was  stirring  in  his  veins ;  and  not  even 
for  his  life's  love  would  he  longer  sue,  or  brook  trifling 
or  hesitancy.  Molly  looked  at  him ;  and  the  percep- 
tion, subtler  than  thought,  told  her  all  this,  told  her, 
too,  that  on  that  moment's  truth  and  courage  hung  her 
own  and  another's  happiness  for  a  whole  life.  She, 
too,  rose ;  and  standing  bravely  before  him,  though  her 
face  burned  rosy-red,  and  her  voice  choked  almost 
into  a  sob,  she  said,  — 

"  I  will  not  trifle,  I  will  not  hide  the  truth :  yes,  I 
do  love  you,  Francois." 

"Now  God's  blessing  on  you,  my  brave,  sweet 
love  ! "  exclaimed  the  baron,  putting  his  arm  about 


184  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

her,  and  pressing  the  kiss  of  betrothal  upon  her  lips, 
yet  immediately  releasing  her,  and  saying,  with  a  ten- 
der authority  in  his  tone,  — 

"  Now,  then,  bonne-et-bellc,  sit  you  there ;  and  since 
we  have  but  one  chair  in  our  menage,  I  will  sit  upon 
the  stool  beside  you,  and  let  us  arrange  for  our 
wedding.  And  first  of  all,  dear  love,  I  have  no  name 
but  Francois." 

"  Nay,  Francois,  I  must  confess  to  having  surprised 
one  of  your  secrets.  I  know  your  name  already." 

"  You  know  my  name  !     How  then,  mistress  ?  " 

"Do  not  be  vexed,  but  your  friend  all  uncon- 
sciously betrayed  it.  He  asked,  'Does  Monsieur  le 
Baron  wish  to  see  me  ? '  Now  I  know  that  monsieur 
in  French  is  answerable  to  master  in  English,  so  le 
baron  remains  for  your  name.  Master  LeBaron  they 
would  call  you  here." 

The  cloud  of  annoyance  passed  from  the  baron's 
brow ;  and  with  a  quizzical  smile  he  replied,  — 

"  Your  wit  is  too  shrewd  for  me  to  gainsay  it,  pretty 
one ;  and  I  confess  myself  vanquished.  Then,  since 
my  name  is  Master  LeBaron,  will  you  be  called  Mis- 
tress LeBaron,  and  that  at  the  time  I  am  about  to 
propose?" 

"  O  Francois  !  no  need  of  settling  that  yet.  It  will 
be  many  a  long  day  before  the  war  is  over,  and  you 
can  come  back,"  said  Molly  with  a  sigh. 

"So  many,  sweetheart  ('tis  the  prettiest  word  in  all 
your  language,  Marie,  and  I  have  so  often  longed  to 
say  it  to  you),  so  many  days  until  the  war  is  over,  that 
we  will  wait  for  none  of  them,  not  one.  We  will  be 
wed  this  very  night,  before  I  leave  the  house." 


THE  BETROTHAL.  185 

"Nay,  now,  Francois,  I  shall  be  displeased  again 
an  you  take  that  tone.  It  is  but  folly  to  speak  of  it, 
besides." 

"  Wait  now,  my  fiancee,  and  listen,  and  be  not  so 
ready  to  decide  matters  on  which  I  have  thought  for 
days." 

"  But,  think  as  hard  as  you  may,  Francois,  you  can- 
not make  me  think  of  playing  traitor  to  my  father  so." 

"  Nay,  child,  what  traitor  ?  If  I  come  back  here 
with  means  of  supporting  you,  with  a  position  as  a 
physician,  and  with  a  constant  though  weary  heart, 
and  we  told  your  father  we  had  been  affianced  since 
so  many  years,  and  you  assured  him  that  you  loved 
me  well,  and  would  wed  none  but  me,  think  you  he 
would  consent? " 

"  I  know  he  would,  for  he  too  loves  me  well." 

"  With  father-love,  yes.  It  is  I  who  will  show  you 
what  is  a  man's  love  for  his  wife,  my  Marie.  But 
hold,  I  will  not  be  tempted  from  my  point.  He 
would  consent,  you  say.  Well,  then,  what  harm  in 
giving  our  betrothal  the  sanctity  and  safety  of  a  priest's 
blessing?  It  is  but  the  ceremony  that  I  ask,  not  one 
kiss  of  your  dear  lips  unless  you  give  it  willingly. 
Only  let  me  feel,  in  going  out  to  face  danger,  hard- 
ship, and  death,  that  the  sweet  saint  who  prays  for 
me,  as  I  know  Marie  will  pray,  has  a  wife's  right  to 
be  heard  above ;  and  that,  come  what  will  of  change 
or  chance  to  her  or  me  or  others,  she  is  still  ray 
own  true  wife  whenever  I  can  claim  her.  Only  God 
and  our  two  selves  and  the  priest  will  know ;  but  1 
shall  go  out,  and  you  will  stay  here,  both  of  us  armed 


1 86  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

fur  our  separate  fight  as  no  uncertain  contract  could 
ever  arm  us." 

He  was  silent,  keenly  watching  the  face  of  the 
young  girl  drooped  in  anxious  thought.  He  saw  that 
her  own  heart  fought  on  his  side,  and,  like  a  wise 
general,  did  not  interfere  with  the  action  of  his  allies. 
At  last  she  said  dreamily,  — 

"And  I  tried  so  hard  to  be  a  truthful  girl,  at  least." 

"  And  do  not  you  owe  truth  to  your  husband,  prom- 
ised or  actual,  more  than  to  any  other  man  ?  And  will 
not  this  be  the  strongest  possible  safeguard  to  your 
truth?  "  asked  the  lover  almost  harshly.  "  You  know 
how  your  mother  wishes  you  to  marry  this  sccterat, 
who  would  sell  my  head  for  twenty  dollars ;  and  you 
know  how  she  will  urge  you,  and  how  you  may  be  all 
but  forced  into  it,  especially  should  she  in  dying  make 
it  her  last  petition,  or  should  your  father  die,  and 
leave  you  alone  in  her  hands.  And,  if  you  cannot 
marry  him,  is  it  not  stronger  than  if  you  simply  will 
not?  At  any  rate,  it  lifts  a  load  from  my  heart  in 
leaving  you,  Marie,  if  that  is  something." 

"That  is,  indeed,  almost  every  thing.  But  my 
father !  I  cannot,  cannot  deceive  him,  Francois.  I 
will  not ! " 

"  Four  and  twenty  hours  after  I  am  gone  you  shall 
tell  him,  if  you  will.  Sooner  than  that,  he  might  feel 
bound  to  give  the  alarm.  You  shall  tell  him,  or  in- 
deed anybody  else,  after  that  time,  that  you  are  a 
wedded  maiden,  waiting  in  her  father's  house  until 
her  husband  can  claim  her." 

Another  pause,  and  then  Molly  said  again,  — 


THE  BETROTHAL.  l8/ 

"But  the  minister,  Mr.  Watkins,  couldn't  come 
without  every  one  knowing." 

"  And  he  need  not  come,"  replied  Frangois  more 
gayly ;  for  well  he  knew  the  proverb  of  the  fortress 
and  the  woman  who  parleys.  "  We  want  no  Vatkins 
here,  for  we  have  a  consecrated  priest  beneath  the 
roof  already." 

"What,  Dr.  Schwarz?" 

"  You  call  him  so,  sweetheart,  but  he  is  a  priest.  I 
will  not  say  his  name  ;  but  his  title  is  Monsieur  1'Abb^, 
and  he  can  marry  us  so  that  none  but  the  Pope  him- 
self can  undo  the  knot." 

" Then  he  is  a  Papist ;  and  you,  Frangois?" 

"  I  too,  Marie.     Did  you  not  know  it?  " 

"  I  guessed  it  the  first  day,  when  —  when  I  saw  that 
thing  about  your  neck." 

"  My  mother's  crucifix,  Marie :  she  hung  it  there, 
praying  with  her  dying  lips  that  it  would  shield  her 
boy  from  harm  to  sou)  and  body;  and  of  a  truth, 
soldier  of  fortune  though  I  am,  and  rough  life  though 
I  may  have  led,  I  believe  that  prayer  has  done  its 
work ;  and  no  sin  beyond  repentance  has  stained  the 
soul,  and  no  great  harm,  though  many  a  danger,  has 
befallen  the  body.  Marie,  as  I  lay  there  on  your  cruel 
shore,  my  arm  mangled  between  those  rocks,  and 
death  already  clutching  at  my  heart,  I  found  strength 
to  put  that  crucifix  to  my  lips,  and  call  upon  the  Son 
of  God  for  aid  in  my  extremity.  The  next  wave, 
instead  of  beating  the  breath  from  my  body,  lifted 
me,  and  carried  me  high  upon  the  beach.  I  was 
saved." 


1 88  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Oh,  thank  God,  thank  God,  Fra^ois  ! " 

"Yes;  but  I  think  my  appeal,  and  the  blessed  cru- 
cifix, and  my  mother's  prayers  moved  the  good  God 
then,"  said  Francois  simply ;  and  Molly,  looking  into 
liis  brave,  earnest  eyes,  felt  a  moment's  vague  regret 
that  she  had  not  been  reared  in  this  positive,  comfort- 
ing faith.  So  it  was  answering  herself,  rather  than 
him,  that  she  said,  — 

"  But  I  can  never  become  a  Papist." 

"  Poor  child  !  How  little  you  know  the  joy  that 
you  scorn  !  frightened  from  it  by  the  bugaboos  men 
have  set  up.  But  I  will  never  constrain  you,  sweet 
wife,  nor  even  argue  with  you  :  religion  shall  be  one 
of  the  things  we  will  put  away,  and  never  speak  about. 
I  am  not  afraid  for  you,  my  saint." 

"  One  of  the  things  ?  What  else,  Francois  ?  "  asked 
Molly  in  a  troubled  voice;  but  Francois  answered 
firmly,— 

"All  my  life,  sweetheart,  until  the  night  I  tapped 
upon  your  casement,  including  him  whom  you  call 
Schwarz,  and  one  whose  name  you  have  twice  pro- 
nounced, but  will  never  speak  again  if  you  would 
spare  me  pain.  Canst  curb  thy  woman's  curiosity, 
thy  wifely  rights,  so  far?  " 

"It  is  not  curiosity,  Francois;  but  you  ask  very 
much.  I  give  you  my  whole  heart,  lay  open  my  whole 
Kfe.  Your  kiss  is  the  first,  man  save  my  father,  evei 
laid  upon  my  lips." 

"And  I  can  give  you  no  such  sweet  assurance, 
Marie.  I  am  seven  years  your  senior  in  years,  seven 
times  seven  in  experience  of  the  world,  and  a  rough, 


THE  BETROTHAL.  l8> 

bad  world  too.  I  give  you  no  freshness ;  I  can  make 
you  no  confidences  of  the  past ;  but,  from  this  day 
out,  I  give  you  my  life,  all  and  entire.  I  give  you  my 
love,  my  faith,  my  honor,  my  all.  Perhaps  one  wo- 
man in  a  thousand  is  strong  enough  in  herself  to  give 
such  perfect  confidence  to  her  husband ;  and  I  believe 
you  to  be  that  woman,  Marie.  Am  I  right?  Will 
you  trust  me  so  entirely?  Will  you  be  my  wife?" 

And  Molly,  laying  her  hands  in  his,  and  raising  her 
calm  eyes  fearlessly  to  meet  his  scrutiny,  simply  said, 
"I  will" 


I QO  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

GRANDMOTHER  AMES'S  CURTAINS. 

THE  great  eight-day  clock  in  the  kitchen  struck 
twelve  with  all  the  resonance  and  deliberation 
so  clearly  distinguishing  the  midnight  from  the  noon- 
day voice  of  any  responsible  clock ;  and  as  the  sound 
died  away  in  the  supernatural  stillness,  also  sure  to 
follow  the  stroke  of  midnight,  the  door  leading  from 
the  parlor  to  the  kitchen  opened  very  gently,  and 
Molly's  pale  face  peeped  out  and  listened  anxiously 
to  the  quiet  breathing  of  the  invalid,  accompanied  by 
the  more  positive  demonstrations  of  the  husband 
sleeping  on  a  cot  beside  her  bed. 

Truth  to  tell,  Dr.  Schwarz  had  assured  his  patient 
a  good  night's  rest  by  a  judicious  soporific;  and 
Humphrey,  like  most  hard-working  healthy  men,  need- 
ed no  coaxing  to  his  ten-hours'  slumber. 

"  God  bless  them  both,  and  forgive  me  ! "  said  Mol- 
ly under  her  breath,  as  she  re-closed  the  door,  and 
turned  the  button  upon  the  inside.  Then  raking  open 
the  fire,  with  which,  rather  to  her  father's  surprise,  she 
had  indulged  herself  on  retiring,  she  lighted  a  couple 
of  candles  by  aid  of  one  of  the  coals,  put  some  wood 
upon  the  embers,  and  looked  shyly  about  her ;  for  this 
was  Molly  Wilder's  wedding-day,  coming  up  so  still 


GRANDMOTHER  AMES'S  CURTAINS,      igi 

and  cold  from  the  wintiy  sea ;  and  all  alone  in  the 
dim  chill  chamber  she  was  to  make  her  bridal  toilet. 
But  how?  She  had  no  pretty  clothes,  no  ornaments 
or  coquetries  of  the  toilet,  for  her  mother's  asceti- 
cism and  the  lonely  life  alike  discouraged  such  frivol- 
ities :  but  Francois  had  jestingly  bade  her  make  her- 
self beautiful  for  his  eyes,  since  there  would  be  no 
others  to  admire  her ;  and  she  fain  would  do  so. 

But  again,  how  ?  Ever  since  nine  o'clock,  when  she 
retired  to  her  extempore  couch  upon  the  parlor- floor, 
Molly's  mind  had  been  actively  exercised  in  recalling 
all  the  traditions  of  brides,  their  costumes,  and  their 
manners,  that  ever  had  come  within  her  knowledge. 
The  only  one  she  had  seen  with  her  own  eyes  was  at 
a  meeting  of  Friends  she  had  attended  with  her  par- 
ents :  and  that  one  was  about  forty  years  old,  and 
wore  a  skimpy  dress,  cape,  and  bonnet,  all  made  from 
the  same  piece  of  drab-colored  silk,  and,  by  way  of 
ornament,  had  decked  herself  with  such  an  air  of  stern 
resignation  and  determination,  that  Molly,  on  the  way 
home,  innocently  inquired  of  her  mother  if  Friend 
Hannah  Trimble  were  married  against  her  will,  that 
she  looked  so  sour  over  it;  and  Deborah,  yielding 
with  a  grim  smile  to  the  fascination  of  bridal  gossip, 
replied  that  it  were  shrewder  to  ask  that  question  of 
Phineas  Coffin,  since  every  one  knew  Hannah  had  wed 
him  whether  he  would  or  no. 

"But  do  all  brides  look  like  that,  mother?  "  persisted 
the  child ;  and  her  mother,  plunging  still  deeper  into 
worldly  talk,  proceeded  to  describe  a  bride  and  a 
wedding  she  had  seen  in  the  parish-church  at  home, 


192  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAM 

where  the  lovely  Lady  Anne  was  arrayed  in  flowing 
white  satin  robes,  with  garniture  and  veil  of  ancestral 
lace,  and  a  crown  of  orange-blossoms  upon  her  head, 
a  bevy  of  noble  maidens  at  her  side,  and  troops  of 
village  children  to  scatter  flowers  in  her  path. 

As  old  memories  came  back,  Deborah's  cheek 
flushed,  and  her  eyes  sparkled;  but  Molly  still  ap- 
peared dissatisfied.  "  But  that  was  a  lord's  daughter 
marrying  a  lord,"  objected  she.  "  How  do  people  like 
us  dress?  How  were  you  dressed  yourself,  mother? " 

Deborah  smiled  a  little,  and  looked  slyly  at  her 
husband,  who  grinned  sympathetically  back  at  her ;  and 
then  she  said  with  an  odd  softness  in  her  voice,  — 

"Why,  there  was  a  time  about  it,  child.  Thee 
knows  I  was  a  Friend  already,  and  should  by  rights 
have  dressed  like  Hannah  Trimble  to-day:  but  thy 
father,  there,  set  his  hard  head  against  it,  and  would 
have  his  bride  come  to  him  in  white,  as  a  pure  maid 
has  a  right  to  do ;  and  at  last  my  people  gave  in,  and 
my  father  himself  bought  the  white  cambric  for  my 
dress ;  and  when  I  was  to  leave  the  house  he  stuck  a 
white  rose  in  my  hah-,  and  said  it  matched  my  neck ; 
and  we  walked  to  your  father's  parish-church,  and 
were  married  just  as  well  as  Lady  Anne  herself.  I 
have  the  dress  saved  by  for  thee,  child,  when  thee  is 
grown.  The  body  will  be  a  deal  too  little,  but  thft 
skirt  will  make  thee  a  fine  petticoat  for  best.  But 
there,  enough  of  this  worldly  talk.— Humphrey,  did  not 
thee  think  the  Spirit  moved  me  mightily  in  meeting 
yesterday?  Did  thee  like  what  I  said ? " 

Molly  remained  obediently  silent,  but  rested  not  by 


GRANDMOTHER  AMES'S  CURTAINS.      193 

day  nor  night  until  the  white  cambric  dress  was  given 
over  to  her  own  keeping;  and  the  skirt,  lengthened 
down  by  several  inches  and  freshly  laundered,  now 
hung  over  a  chair  ready  to  serve  at  its  second  bridal. 

"  All  in  white,  as  a  pure  maid  has  a  right,"  repeated 
Molly  to  herself,  as  she  looked  at  it,  and  touched  it 
reverently.  "  Yes,  I  will  be  in  white,  sure  enough ;  bu» 
what  white?" 

She  opened  the  closet-door  where  all  her  wardrobe 
hung  since  yesterday,  and  stood,  a  finger  upon  her  lip, 
contemplating  the  well-remembered  garments  in  silent 
perplexity. 

That  new  stuff  dress  of  Quaker  brown,  so  ugly  in 
its  fit,  and  clumsy  in  fashion?  No,  indeed.  The 
Striped  blue  and  white  linsey-woolsey,  or  the  yet  shab- 
bier gray  and  black  ?  Oh,  no  !  The  homespun  linen 
for  summer  wear,  and  the  striped  short-gown  and 
petticoat,  and  the  "  cooler  "  for  hot  weather  of  India 
chintz,  brought  from  England  in  the  emigration? 
Not  one  of  all  these  was  of  the  slightest  value  now ; 
and  Molly  shut  the  closet-door  with  a  sigh,  and  looked 
ah  out  her.  But  refusing  is  not  choosing ;  and  when 
the  closet-door  was  closed,  Molly  had  shut  away  her 
entire  wardrobe,  and  stood  looking  about  her  with  such 
an  air  of  dejection  and  perplexity,  that,  much  as  we 
condsmn  her  stolen  marriage,  vre  fain  must  pity  her  a 
little,  all  alone  here  in  the  silence  of  midnight,  so  for- 
lornly struggling  to  provide  some  little  beauty  and 
fitness  for  that  nuptial  hour,  around  which  fond 
mothers  ordinarily  heap  their  tenderest  cares,  and  smil- 
ing friends  their  most  assiduous  attentions. 


I9/  A   NAMELESS  NOBLE  MA  A". 

Even  the  resolute  determination  for  a  white  dress 
had  something  of  pathos  in  it ;  for  it  sprung  from  the 
unconscious  protest  the  maiden  soul  was  making 
against  what  might  seem  unmaidenly  even  in  his  eyes 
for  whom  the  sacrifice  was  made.  "  As  a  pure  maid 
has  the  right,"  she  whispered  to  herself  again,  as,  tak- 
ing a  little  wooden  box  from  a  drawer,  she  sat  down  to 
turn  over  its  but  too  familiar  contents.  Such  poor 
little  bits  of  finery  !  So  useless,  so  ugly  !  One  longs 
to  re-create  that  fair  form  and  bright  maiden  head 
from  the  dust  of  two  centuries,  and  pity  and  caress 
and  comfort  it  at  least.  Two  centuries  and  more  ago, 
and  yet  how  close  akin  to  yon  young  girl's  heart  was 
this  whose  story  her  descendant  so  lovingly  tells  to-day  1 
The  world  is  born  new  every  day,  yet  always  the  same 
dear  old  world. 

Ah  !  One  item  for  the  toilet  at  last.  Here  are 
some  yards  of  white  ribbon  bought  for  a  bonnet- 
trimming  of  that  peddler  last  summer,  and  not  yet 
used.  That  will  do  for  —  well,  something;  but  the 
recollection  of  the  peddler  has  suggested  another 
idea,  —  an  idea  at  the  same  time  so  audacious  and  so 
delightful  that  Molly  stood  for  a  moment  with  clasped 
hands  and  blazing  cheeks  contemplating  it  in  the  air 
before  venturing  to  approach  more  closely.  Then, 
laying  the  box  back  in  the  secretary-drawer,  she  drew 
from  the  very  remotest  corner  of  that  receptacle  a 
parcel  wrapped  in  silver-paper,  and  carefully  pinned; 
and,  seating  herself,  slowly  unfolded  and  unrolled  a 
web  of  delicate  bobbinet  lace,  bought  in  much  fear 
and  trembling  at  the  expense,  by  Mistress  Wilder,  of 


GRANDMOTHER  AMES'S  CURTAINS.      195 

Jhis  same  peddler,  who  professed  to  have  himself  im- 
ported it  from  Holland  for  the  especial  use  of  feminine 
Friends,  who  used  it  for  those  formally  folded  yet  not 
ungraceful  neckerchiefs  forming  part  of  their  regu- 
lation costume.  The  purchase  made,  and  the  peddler 
gone,  Deborah's  heart,  at  once  thrifty  and  ascetic, 
sorely  misgave  her  for  her  self-indulgence ;  and,  care- 
fully laying  aside  her  lace,  she  confined  herself  for 
some  months  to  the  coarsest  and  poorest  of  the  muslin 
kerchiefs  with  which  she  was  already  supplied.  Molly, 
who  had  watched  and  smiled  at  this  little  comedy,  had 
from  time  to  time  tried  to  persuade  her  mother  to 
wear  the  lace,  or  else  allow  her  to  do  so  :  but  piety 
forbade  one  of  these  courses,  and  prudence  the  other ; 
and  the  coveted  snare  lay  fresh  and  crisp  in  its  rustling 
paper,  all  ready  to  entangle  the  footsteps  of  the  incau- 
tious maiden  who  approached  it. 

"  A  bridal  veil,  and  of  the  choicest,  if  only  I  dare 
use  it ! "  murmured  Molly,  unwrapping  the  lace,  and 
letting  it  float  over  her  two  hands  as  she  held  it  above 
her  head,  and  glanced  shyly  into  the  black  depths  of 
the  mirror,  whence  she  half  expected  to  see  her 
mother's  angry  face  confront  her. 

"  But  I  will  be  so  very,  very  careful  of  it,  mother 
dear,  if  only  you  will  lend  it,"  whispered  she,  turning 
toward  the  partition  behind  which  lay  her  mother's 
bedroom. 

Reverently  laying  the  lace  upon  the  backs  of  two 
chairs,  Molly  once  more  gazed  around  the  room,  seek- 
ing inspiration  from  the  familiar  surroundings.  The 
secretary?  Nay,  she  knew  the  contents  of  every  one 


IU6  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

of  its  drawers,  and  no  bridal  dresses  were  among 
them.  The  closet?  It  had  been  ransacked.  The 
cupboard  above  the  fire?  Nothing  there.  The  tri- 
angular buffet,  or,  as  Molly  had  always  heard  it 
called,  the  bo-fat,  in  the  corner?  It  contained  some 
precious  bits  of  china  and  glass,  and  the  silver  teapot 
that  had  been  her  father's  father's,  but  nothing  to 
meet  the  present  need.  The  chest?  Molly's  eye* 
dwel'.  upon  it  long  and  meditatively,  as  if  by  clairvoy- 
ance reviewing  through  the  closed  lid  the  manifold 
objects  she  had  so  often  seen  displayed.  The  chest 
itself  was  a  curiosity,  and  nowadays  would  be  a  treas- 
ure ;  for  it  was  of  dark  English  oak,  quaintly  carved, 
and  adorned  with  old  brasses,  such  as  we  vainly  imi- 
tate to-day  in  lacquer-work.  It  had  belonged  in  the 
Wilder  family  long  before  Humphrey  himself  joined 
it,  and  had  "come  over"  with  him,  if  not  in  "The 
Mayflower,"  at  least  in  one  of  those  later  vessels 
which  actually  brought  so  many  of  the  chattels  at- 
tributed to  the  freight  of  that  remarkable  little  brig. 
But,  although  the  chest  was  old,  the  country  was  as 
yet  too  new  to  value  it  for  its  age ;  and  even  Molly 
considered  it  more  as  a  convenient  receptacle  for 
household  stuff  not  in  frequent  use,  than  as  an  heir- 
loom ;  and  she  mentally  went  through  its  treasures 
with  mournful  negation  of  each  one,  until  she  mur- 
mured to  herself,  "  and  grandmother  Ames's  cur- 
tains." Then  she  stopped,  flushed  a  little  with  some 
sudden  thought,  swiftly  crossed  the  room,  and,  kneel- 
ing before  the  chest,  lifted  the  heavy  lid,  and  burrowed 
in  its  contents.  Finally  she  dragged  up  from  the 


GRANDMOTHER  AMES'S  CURTAINS.      Ity 

depths  a  great  parcel,  carefully  pinned  up  in  linen, 
with  a  paper  pasted  upon  the  outside,  inscribed, 
"  Grandmother  Ames's  Curtains." 

Carrying  the  package  nearer  to  the  light,  Molly 
unfastened  it,  and  rapidly  took  out  and  unfolded  the 
contents.  They  were  such  as  are  to  be  found  in 
many  an  old  family  chest  to-day,  perhaps  carefully 
preserved  as  monuments  of  the  industry  and  task  of 
the  women  who  have  gone  before ;  perhaps  tossed 
aside  and  forgotten,  and  merely  retaining  their  places 
in  the  land  of  the  living  because  no  one  takes  interest 
enough  in  them  to  destroy  them.  For  grandmother 
Ames's  curtains  were  a  full  suit  for  three  windows  and 
a  bedstead,  of  fine  India  muslin,  and  all  wrought  by 
her  own  fair  hands  with  festoons  and  wreaths  and  scat- 
tered bouquets  of  such  flowers  as  may  have  bloomed 
in  Eden,  but  never  upon  the  vulgar  earth ;  with  won- 
drous scrolls  and  arabesques,  and  such  wanton  freaks 
of  needlework  as  the  inspired  composer  of  music  may 
indulge  in  upon  his  piano,  or  the  accomplished  "  skat- 
ist "  perform  upon  the  ice  before  an  admiring  crowd. 
Grandmother  Ames  was  a  swift  and  diligent  needle- 
woman, and  these  curtains  had  been  the  great  achieve- 
ment, the  magnum  opus,  of  her  life ;  and  at  her  death 
they  were  solemnly  bequeathed  to  her  daughter  Debo- 
rah, constituting  with  one  feather-bed,  and  one  scarlet 
broadcloth  cloak  and  hood,  a  fair  and  equitable  fourth 
of  the  Ames  inheritance.  Molly  Wilder  had  often 
seen  these  curtains,  and  admired  them  with  that  sort 
of  vague  awe  inspired  by  the  Bayeux  tapestry,  or  a 
patchwork  carpet  said  to  contain  ten  thousand  bits  of 


198  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAM 

cloth,  or  any  other  enormous  and  utterly  useless  waste 
of  human  life  and  industry :  but  to-day  they  aroused 
a  ne\v  and  vital  interest  in  her  mind,  and  one  certainly 
never  contemplated  by  their  artificer ;  for  in  all  those 
yards  of  wrought  muslin,  a  little  tarnished  by  years, 
but  still  of  a  very  delicate  creamy  white,  the  maiden 
saw  the  vision  of  a  wedding-dress,  —  a  vision  not  clearly 
defined  as  yet,  hardly  more  indeed  than  a  bright  pos- 
sibility, but  still  something  to  set  her  cheeks  to  glow- 
ing, and  her  eyes  to  flashing,  and  her  fair  bosom  to 
panting  with  delight  and  impatience.  The  curtains 
must  not  be  cut,  of  course ;  and  how  else  could  they 
be  shaped?  Again  and  again  Molly  took  up  the 
separate  pieces,  and  examined  them,  busily  murmuring 
the  while,  — 

"These  six  long  window-curtains  will  make  the 
skirt,  sweeping  the  floor  like  that  Lady  Anne  wore 
when  mother  saw  her  married  :  nay,  I  will  use  two  for 
a  round  petticoat,  and  the  other  four  shall  make  the 
train.  Ay,  that  goes  swimmingly ;  and  for  the  body, 
why  not  this  headpiece  of  the  bed-curtains?"  She 
held  it  out  at  arm's-length,  and  surveyed  it  with  thai 
intuitive  appreciation  and  speculation  in  her  eye,  an- 
swering in  the  feminine  genius  to  the  fine  frenzy  of  a 
Galileo  or  a  Mitchell  searching  for  the  possible  planet 
or  comet  science  has  taught  him  to  expect  in  defiance 
of  all  the  usual  beliefs  of  man.  It  was  a  long,  scarf- 
shaped,  or  rather  cape-shaped,  piece  of  muslin,  some 
ihree  feet  broad  in  the  middle,  and  perhaps  six  or 
seven  long,  designed  to  hang  inside  the  two  head- 
posts  of  the  old-fashioned  bedstead,  and  to  delight  the 


GRANDMOTHER  AMES'S  CURTAINS.      1 99 

eyes  of  its  occupant  or  occupants,  since  no  one  out- 
side could  catch  a  glimpse  of  it. 

"  Let  me  see,  let  me  see,"  murmured  Molly  busily ; 
and,  hastily  arranging  the  more  substantial  part  of  hei 
toilet,  she  adjusted  the  skirt  and  train,  and  then,  taking 
the  head-piece,  laid  it  over  her  shoulders  like  a  shawl, 
crossed  it  upon  her  bosom,  and  tied  the  ends  behind 
in  a  great  knot,  the  soft  and  fine  fabric  lending  itself 
readily  to  an  arrangement  impossible  with  any  thing 
more  substantial,  and  Molly's  stately  and  statuesque 
figure  bearing  oif  grandly  that  style  of  classic  drapery 
which  on  most  modern  figures  is  so  overwhelming  and 
unbecoming.  The  edge  of  the  fichu  thus  arranged 
covered  the  upper  part  of  the  arms ;  and  the  days  had 
not  yet  arrived  when  the  sleeve  became  an  indispensa- 
ble part  of  the  dress,  being  at  that  time  ranked  more 
with  gloves  and  masks  as  part  of  the  out-door  costume, 
to  be  tied  on  when  about  to  leave  the  house,  and  laid 
aside  on  entering  it.  So  Molly,  gazing  into  the  dim 
mirror,  felt  no  dismay  in  observing  that  the  round, 
white  arm  was  uncovered  from  the  elbow  down,  or 
that  a  soft  and  creamy  bit  of  neck  was  to  be  seen 
between  the  folds  of  the  fichu,  blending  admirably 
with  the  stately  throat  above,  and  suggesting  sweet 
possibilities  below. 

Then  Molly  loosened  her  chestnut  hair,  coiled  it 
afresh,  and  laid  over  it  the  web  of  lace,  suffering  one 
end  to  cover  her  face,  and  binding  it  around  with  the 
fillet  of  white  ribbon  in  unconscious  classic  accord 
with  the  style  of  her  robe,  and  in  perfect  harmony 
with  her  own  Juno-like  beauty. 


200  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

Finally  clasping  her  hands,  and  dropping  them  in 
front  of  her,  she  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  her- 
self in  shy  approval  and  astonishment ;  for  never  had 
mirror  given  back  to  her  an  image  like  this,  and  yet 
it  was  herself.  Her  own  gray  eyes,  but  when  so  soft 
and  dewy  in  their  brightness?  her  own  mouth,  but 
when  so  tremulous  and  tender  in  its  dreamy  smile  ? 
her  own  cheeks,  but  when  so  charmingly  colored? 
even  the  wide  white  chin  looked  soft  and  loving  to- 
night; even  the  little  ear  blushed  pink  with  sweet 
emotion ;  even  the  bright  hair  lay  more  softly  upon 
the  brow,  and  coiled  more  crown-like  upon  the  queen- 
ly head. 

Yes,  she  saw  that  she  was  lovely,  for  she  had  quick 
appreciation  of  all  loveliness  :  and  she  used  the  knowl- 
edge as  her  noble  nature  and  pure  heart  prompted ; 
for,  still  gazing  in  the  mirror,  she  said,  "  It  is  because 
Francois  loves  me,  that  I  look  like  this ;  and  how  can 
I  thank  God  enough  for  sending  him  to  love  me,  and 
for  making  me  comely  in  his  eyes  !  " 

So  she  fell  upon  her  knees,  and  had  not  yet  arisen, 
when  the  clock  struck  three. 

It  was  her  bridal  hour. 


TRUTH,  AND  NOTHING  BUT  TRUTH.      2O 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

THE  WHOLE  TRUTH,  AND  NOTHING  BUT  THE  TRUTH. 

THE  clock  struck  three ;  and,  quietly  opening  the 
door  into  the  front  hall,  Molly  stole  through  the 
passage  and  up  the  stairs ;  her  white  robes  shimmer- 
ing ghostily,  her  light  foot  noiseless  as  Tabitha's,  who, 
having  with  round  grave  eyes  watched  the  progress 
of  the  toilet,  now  accompanied  the  bride,  somewhat 
as  the  "milk-white  doe"  escorted  Lady  Clare,  seek- 
ing Lord  Ronald's  tower. 

The  door  of  Molly's  own  room  stood  open,  and  her 
lover,  advancing  to  meet  her,  took  both  hands,  and, 
raising  them  deferentially  to  his  lips,  murmured,  — 

"  My  brave,  true  love ! "  and  so  led  her  into  the 
room  where  stood  a  tall  swarthy  stranger,  at  sight  of 
whom  Molly  stopped  in  astonishment ;  but  her  lover 
re-assured  her:  — 

"  It  is  your  old  friend  Schwarz,  Marie :  he  was  in 
disguise,  that  he  might  the  better  help  me.  Now  you 
see  him  au  naturel,  that  is  all.  I  would  present  him 
to  you  if  I  dared,  but  it  is  better  you  never  hear  the 
names  in  which  our  enemies  still  may  search  for  us  ; 
so  call  him,  if  you  will,  Monsieur  l'Abb£,  or  perhaps 
monpere  Are  you  content?  Can  you  trust  me  in 
all?" 


202  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  I  hare  trusted  you,  and  I  will  always  trust  you, 
Francois,"  said  Molly  with  such  sweet  gravity  of 
meaning  that  the  lover's  cheek  was  tinged  with  deliglit 
as  he  ardently  replied,  — 

"  And  you  shall  never  repent  your  noble  confidence, 
my  Marie :  I  promise  it  to  you  foi  de  — foi  d'un 
gentilhomme.  —  Now,  mon  pere." 

The  abbe,  who  remained  so  grave  and  silent  that 
one  might  say  he  had  but  little  relish  for  his  duty, 
opened  the  wave-worn  little  book  in  his  hand,  and 
began  to  read  the  service  in  a  voice  hardly  above  a 
whisper,  yet  so  sonorous  and  full  in  its  intonations  that 
the  Latin  words,  falling  for  the  first  time  upon  Molly's 
unlearned  ear,  seemed  the  language  of  some  strange, 
beautiful  land  of  romance,  wherein  she  walked  as  in  a 
gorgeous  dream;  and  surely  romance  could  hardly 
have  hoped,  in  this  wintry  wilderness,  to  find  material 
so  fitting  as  this  dim  chamber,  with  the  sombre  priest 
hurriedly  muttering  his  full-mouthed  Latin  phrases,  the 
beautiful  bride  in  her  quaint  costume,  the  stately  bride- 
groom gazing  at  her  so  ardently,  and  Tabitha,  who, 
seated  in  the  midst,  fixed  her  gleaming  eyes  on  each 
in  succession  with  true  Satanic  intelligence. 

"La  bague,  mon  fils"  muttered  the  priest;  and 
Fran?ois,  slipping  from  his  finger  the  great  amethyst 
Molly  had  3d  mired  when  her  future  lover  lay  wounded 
and  half  dead  at  her  feet,  placed  it  upon  her  finger, 
and  held  it  there  while  he  repeated  after  the  priest 
some  words  whose  meaning  Molly  could  only  guess. 

"  Kneel,  my  children,"  said  the  priest  in  English, 
and.  as  they  obeyed,  he  laid  his  hands  upon  their 


TRUTH,  AND  NOTHING  BUT  TRUTH.      203 

heads,  and,  in  a  firmer  and  heartier  tone  than  he  yet 
had  used,  bestowed  upon  them  the  apostolic  blessing, 
which,  in  the  belief  of  both  men,  conveyed  a  positive 
gift  of  good  far  beyond  a  charitable  wish ;  while  Molly 
felt  the  tears  start  to  her  eyes  in  gratitude  for  she  knew 
not  what. 

"Monsieur  and  Madame  LeBaron,  allow  me  to 
offer  my  warmest  felicitations,  and  hopes  for  your 
happiness,"  said  the  abbe*,  as  the  new-married  pair 
rose  to  their  feet ;  and  in  pronouncing  the  new  name, 
adopted  since  morning  by  his  friend  and  pupil,  the 
priest  allowed  a  twinkle  of  humor  to  kindle  his  dark 
eyes,  and  a  tone  more  jocose  than  solemn  to  penetrate 
his  deep-toned  voice. 

But  Molly  could  not  appreciate  the  joke ;  and  Fran- 
£ois  had  no  mind  for  it,  being  occupied  in  admiring 
his  bride. 

"And  whence  this  charming  costume,  so  richly 
wrought,  and  yet  so  virginal  in  its  simplicity?"  asked 
he,  touching  the  embroidered  edge  of  the  fichu  as  it 
lay  upon  Molly's  arm.  "  Is  it  not  the  Indian  muslin 
that  our  fine  ladies  abroad  are  so  pleased  to  wear?" 

"  I  believe  <o.  Do  you  like  it?  "  replied  she  with  a 
flush  of  pleasure,  and  a  dimpling  smile  at  the  jest  she 
in  turn  had  all  to  herself. 

"  But  whence  did  it  come  all  of  a  sudden,  as  if  the 
fairies  had  decked  thee  for  thy  bridal  ? "  persisted 
Francois  a  little  curiously.  Molly  hesitated  for  half  an 
instant,  and  decided  not  to  disillusionize  her  bridal 
robe  by  bestowing  upon  it  the  homely  name  of 
window- curtains ;  and,  in  thus  deciding  the  first  ques- 


2O4  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

tion  arising  in  her  married  life,  she  gave  no  urimpor 
tant  clew  to  her  whole  future  course ;  for  truth-telling 
wives  may  be  divided  into  two  broad  classes,  —  those  j 
,'  who  tell  all  the  truth,  and  those  who  tell  nothing  buti 
\  the  truth :  to  our  mind,  and  to  Molly's,  these  latter  are 
the  wisest,  and  even  the  truest  to  the  spirit  of  their 
marriage-vow.  It  was  the  first  time  the  question  had 
been  presented  to  her,  and  there  was  no  time  for 
reasoning ;  but  intuition,  deeper  than  reason,  decided 
it  at  once,  and  it  was  not  half  a  minute  after  the 
baron's  question  before  his  all-unconscious  baroness 
replied,  — 

"And  how  do  you  know  but  the  fairies  did  deck 
me  for  my  bridal  ?  You  told  me  yourself  it  was  the 
mermaids  who  brought  you  here  in  the  first  place  for 
my"  — 

"  Nay,  say  it  out,  sweetheart,  —  thy  husband.  Say 
it  for  me  once,  dear  wife.  Lay  thy  coy  arms  about 
my  neck,  and  give  me  the  kiss  I  will  not  take  without 
thy  leave,  and  say,  'This  for  my  husband  Francois, 
from  Marie  his  wife.' " 

Smiling  and  ashamed,  she  did  exactly  as  he  bid  her ; 
and  he,  holding  her  close  to  his  heart  for  one  sweet 
moment,  and  then  gazing  reverently  into  the  deep, 
true  eyes  lifted  to  his  so  bravely  yet  so  shyly,  felt  a 
sudden  burden  of  responsibility,  almost  of  remorse, 
fasten  upon  his  heart,  at  knowledge  of  the  change  he 
had  wrought  in  this  fair  and  pure  life,  and  how  its 
whole  future  lay  in  his  hand. 

"  God  so  deal  with  me,  as  I  with  you,  my  wife  ! " 
whispered  he;  and  she  for  answer  kissed  him  yet 
again,  then  released  herself  from  his  embrace. 


TRUTH,  AND  NOTHING  BUT  TRUTH.      20$ 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  friends,  but  I  must  remind  you  of 
the  time,"  said  the  abbe  dryly.  "It  is  all  but  foul 
o'clock ;  and  our  friend  Amariah  is  very  matutinal,  not 
to  mention  our  worthy  host,  who  sometimes,  as  he 
tells  me,  rises  before  the  dawn." 

"Yes,  yes.  Francois,  you  must  go  at  once,"  ex- 
claimed Molly,  her  firm  mind  springing  back  to  its 
balance  upon  the  instant.  "  I  drew  the  bolt  of  the 
front  door  before  I  went  to  bed,  and  the  hinges  are 
well  oiled,  so  that  it  will  open  noiselessly.  The  basket 
of  provisions  is  in  .he  parlor,  and  the  extra  wrap- 
pings are  here." 

"  Most  thoughtful  of  wives,  and  so  young  in  that 
sweet  character ! "  exclaimed  Francois  uxoriously. 
"  Yes,  all  is  ready  but  my  will ;  and  that  I  think  will 
never  say,  '  It  is  time  to  part.' " 

"  I  pray  you,  do  not  forget  the  moccasins  I  gave  you 
to  put  over  your  boots,  or  the  extra  stockings.  One's 
feet  are  so  cold  after  some  hours  in  a  sleigh." 

"  I  will  not  forget,  Griselda." 

"And  thy  poor  arm,"  pursued  Molly,  not  caring  to 
inquire  who  Griselda  might  be,  or  have  been ;  and  her 
earnestness  and  persevering  adherence  to  the  matter 
in  hand  roused  Frangois  from  his  dreams  of  delight, 
as  no  personal  responsibility  would  in  the  least  have 
done. 

The  abb6  also  showed  himself,  in  this  emergency, 
to  be  no  less  a  man  of  affairs  than  a  priest  and  a 
physician :  he  thought  of  every  thing,  generally  find- 
ing, to  be  sure,  that  Molly  had  thought  of  it  before- 
hand, and  laid  down  the  whole  plan  of  the  escape 


2O6  A^ NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

both  for  Francois  and  himself  so  clearly  that  theie 
could  hardly  occur  at  any  point  one  of  those  dreadful 
breaks  in  the  chain  of  connection,  by  which  many  a 
captive  has,  just  in  the  moment  of  deliverance,  found 
the  road  cut  from  under  his  feet,  and  been  helplessly 
remanded  to  a  bitterer  captivity  than  ever.  He  had 
even  taken  occasion,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  to  go 
in  and  out  of  the  front  door  several  times,  so  that 
whatever  footprints  might  appear  upon  the  hard 
frozen  snow  should  be  attributed  to  his  feet.  Softly 
opening  the  door,  he  pointed  out  this  fact  to  the 
baron,  bidding  him  be  careful  to  tread  exactly  in  the 
same  track;  but  the  caution  was  unheeded,  for,  as 
the  last  barrier  between  the  captive  and  liberty  was 
removed,  he  turned  back  to  his  captivity  and  his 
jailer  with  a  clinging  love,  such  as  he  had  not  yet 
known,  and,  clasping  Molly  in  his  arms,  whispered,  — 

"  Sweet  wife !  I  cannot  leave  thee  thus.  Shall  I 
stay,  and  risk  all,  or  will  you  come  with  me  ?  " 

"Neither,  Francois.  We  knew  that  we  did  but 
join  to  part.  Be  strong,  dear  husband,  and  let  me  be 
strong ;  for  you  are  a  man,  and  should  show  me  the 
sxample." 

"  And  so  I  will.  Good-by,  darling :  God  be  with 
you,  and  keep  you  !  Do  not  doubt  me,  even  though 
years  should  pass.  So  sure  as  I  live,  I  will  come  to 
claim  you." 

"  I  should  never  dream  of  doubting  it,"  said  Molly 
in  some  surprise :  and  then  they  clung  together  in  one 
of  those  embraces  whose  passion  is  all  pain,  for  the 
sorrow  of  parting  strikes  its  bitterness  through  the 


TRUTH,   AND  NOTHING  BUT  TRUTH.      2QJ 

sweet  of  love,  and  the  sweet  makes  the  bitter  all 
the  more  pungent. 

It  was  Molly  who,  at  the  last,  unclasped  her  hus- 
band's arms  from  around  her  neck,  and  gently  push- 
ing him  toward  the  door  whispered,  — 

"  Go.  dear,  in  the  name  of  pity,  go  !  " 

"Yes,  mon  baron,  it  is  madness  to  delay,"  mur- 
mured the  abb£  impatiently ;  and  Francois,  without  a 
word,  with  but  one  more  lingering  kiss,  allowed  him- 
self to  be  led  to  the  door,  which  presently  closed 
behind  him,  but  not  until  the  last  cautious  echo  of 
his  footsteps  had  died  upon  the  frosty  air.  Then  the 
abbe"  turned,  and  looked  shrewdly  at  Molly.  She  was 
white  as  her  dress,  and  leaned  heavily  against  the 
door-casing  with  closed  eyes,  from  beneath  whose 
lids  great  tears  were  slowly  forcing  their  course. 
Light  as  a  cat  the  priest  mounted  the  stairs  to  his  own 
room,  and  presently  returned  with  a  little  flat  silver 
cup,  part  apparently  of  a  pocket-flask. 

"  Drink  this,  madame  ! "  whispered  he  peremptorily. 
"  Drink,  if  but  one  sip,  to  your  husband's  safe  jour- 
ney." 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  insure  it  thus  !  "  replied  Molly ;  but 
she  took  the  cup,  and  smiled,  and  whispered  some- 
thing, and  quaffed  the  contents,  never  knowing  whether 
it  was  sea-water  or  good  French  brandy :  to  her  it  was 
a  pledge  to  Francois,  and  that  was  all. 

"  And  now,  madame,"  pursued  the  abb£,  receiving 
back  the  cup  with  a  smile,  "  I  recommend  that  you 
take  off  and  put  away  this  beautiful  dress,  and,  after 
hiding  all  signs  of  unusual  confusion,  get  a  little  sleep 


208  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

before  the  day  breaks.  I  shall  do  so,  for  it  will  be 
many  a  night  before  we  shall  sleep  so  securely  again." 

"The  advice  is  good,  sir.     Good-night." 

And  Mary  went  into  her  own  room,  where  the 
dying  fire  still  shed  a  warm  and  dusky  glow,  fastened 
the  door,  and  drew  aside  the  window-curtain.  The 
intense,  brooding  darkness  of  the  hour  before  dawn 
was  over  all  the  earth ;  but  beneath  it  the  snow  shot 
up  a  sullen  and  sepulchral  gleam,  as  in  the  darkened 
chamber  of  death  the  shrouded  form  in  its  cold  white 
vestments  cannot  be  hid. 

Mary  shuddered,  and  dropped  the  curtain,  then  fell 
upon  her  knees  whispering,  — 

"  Eye  of  man  can  see  him  not ;  but  thou,  O  God, 
thou  to  whom  the  night  is  as  the  noonday,  oh,  watch 
him  and  keep  him  and  save  him,  and  bring  him  back 
tome!" 


THE  MAIL-BAG   OF  THE  "CIRCE."      2OQ 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE   MAIL-BAG  OF  THE   "  CIRCE." 

"TV  TEWS,  news,  cher  docteur!"  exclaimed  a  gay 
j.  \|  young  officer  of  artillery,  looking  in  at  the  open 
door  of  a  little  barrack-chamber  wherein  the  regiment- 
al surgeon  sat  reading  and  smoking. 

"  And  what  news,  mon  capitan  ? "  asked  he  a 
little  languidly.  "  Have  the  Hurons  captured  a  part} 
of  Iroquois?  or  is  it  the  Iroquois  who  have  annoyed 
the  Hurons  this  time  ?  or  "  — 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort ;  but  news  that  may  take  us 
all  back  to  la  belle  France,  leaving  the  savages  to  fight 
out  their  own  squabbles,  and  murder  these  Jesuit 
fathers,  who  hunger  so  furiously  after  martyrdom,  at 
their  leisure.  A  brigantine  from  home,  just  anchor- 
ing below  the  citadel ;  and  here  comes  the  chaplain  to 
confirm  my  report." 

"What !  You  have  already  heard  the  blessed  ne\*s 
of  peace,  Capt.  Reynier?"  asked  a  mellow  voice  a 
the  chaplain  entered  the  room. 

"What,  peace!  Is  it  true,  then?  Has  the  mail 
come  ashore?"  And,  without  waiting  for  reply,  the 
young  man  dashed  out  of  the  room  and  down  the 
stairs. 

"News  of  »eace,  eh?"  asked  Dr.  LeBaron  stiD 


2IO  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAtf. 

languidly,  still  indifferently,  as  Pere  Vincent  closed  the 
door,  and  came  to  seat  himself  beside  his  friend. 

"  Yes,  doctor,  and  other  news  also,"  replied  the  priest 
in  a  voice  of  suppressed  emotion.  "  I  have  a  letter." 

"A  letter!  But  how  did  any  one  know  of  your 
whereabouts  or  your  identity?"  asked  the  doctoi 
sternly.  "That  is,  any  one  but  your  religious  supe- 
riors," added  he  more  gently.  "  Is  the  letter  from  one 
of  your  fathers?" 

"  No,  but  still  from  a  priest.  You  remember  Pere 
Noailles,  who  went  home  invalided  a  few  months  after 
our  arrival  in  this  place  ?  " 

"Yes.  Surely,  Father  Vincent,  you  did  not  betray 
our  identity  to  him?  "  demanded  the  surgeon  angrily. 

"  Not  at  all,  my  son ;  the  worthy  priest  and  myself 
never  exchanged  six  words  about  you  in  our  lives,  or, 
indeed,  many  about  myself  individually.  I  found  him 
a  man  of  rare  discretion  and  reserve ;  and,  although 
we  spent  many  hours  in  close  communion,  I  do  not 
know  at  this  moment  what  was  his  name  before  enter- 
ing the  church,  or  his  birthplace,  or  family  condition, 
—  in  fact,  no  more  than  he  does  mine." 

"  Well,  and  he  has  written  to  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  a  most  interesting  account  of  the  Oratorian 
College,  and  the  Lazarist  Fathers,  who  are  doing  great 
work  in  the  provincial  towns." 

"Ay?  Well,  that  is  all  good,"  replied  the  surgeon 
politely  indifferent. 

"But  the  good  father  encloses  another  letter  in 
which  you  may  take  more  interest,"  pursued  the  priest, 
taking  a  folded  paper  from  his  pocket.  "  It  is  from 
my  sister  Clotilde,  whom  you  may  remember." 


THE  MAIL-BAG   OF  THE  "CIRCE."      211 

"But,  abb£,  how  could  you  write  to  your  sister, 
as  I  suppose  you  did,  without  betraying  your  where- 
abouts and  mine  also?" 

"Very  easily,  as  you  shall  see  :  I  wrote  to  my  sister, 
mentioning  neither  date  nor  residence.  For  any  thing 
to  be  gathered  from  the  letter,  the  writer  may  have 
been  resident  in  Japan  or  Nova  Zembla.  This  letter 
1  enclosed  in  one  to  my  spiritual  superior,  to  whom, 
you  know,  as  a  member  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  I  am 
obliged  to  report  myself  at  stated  periods,  —  knowledge 
as  impossible  to  spread  beyond  its  authorized  limits  as 
that  obtained  in  the  confessional.  I  asked  him  to 
transmit  this  letter  to  my  sister  through  a  certain 
priest,  her  confessor,  and  to  desire  him  to  write  at  her 
dictation  a  reply.  This,  given  by  the  confessor  to 
his  and  my  superior,  would  be  transmitted  to  Pere 
Noailles,  and  by  him  enclosed  to  me.  My  somewhat 
complex  plan  worked  as  smoothly  as  most  complex 
matters  do  when  committed  to  Holy  Church  for 
guidance ;  and  here  is  Clotilde's  letter.  Will  you 
look  at  it?" 

"  Thanks ;  but  you  shall  tell  me  any  thing  in  it  that 
especially  interests  yourself,"  replied  the  doctor  in  a 
voice  full  of  meaning  and  warning. 

The  priest  laid  the  letter  upon  the  table  at  his 
friend's  elbow,  and  rose,  saying,  — 

"You  had  better  read  it  for  yourself,  and  in  soli- 
tude. We  shall  meet  at  supper  if  not  sooner."  Then 
he  went  out,  and  the  doctor  resumed  his  book  and  his 
pipe,  reading  steadily  down  one  page,  turning  the  leaf 
and  beginning  another,  with  no  consciousness  of  A 


212  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

single  word  or  line,  while  the  eyes  so  steadily  fixed 
upon  the  printed  page  were  far  more  conscious  of  the 
sidelong  reflection  upon  the  retina  of  that  unfolded 
sheet  upon  the  table  than  of  the  object  immediately 
in  front  of  them.  Suddenly,  with  an  impatient  ges- 
ture, the  surgeon  tossed  the  book  upon  a  bed  at  the 
other  side  of  the  room,  flung  the  pipe  upon  the  table, 
and,  striding  to  the  window,  stood  staring  down  upon 
the  wonderful  landscape  at  his  feet,  where  the  blue 
waters  of  the  St.  Charles  dance  down  to  lose  them- 
selves in  the  more  turbid  flood  of  the  St.  Lawrence, 
and  both  together  flow  majestically  onward  to  the  sea, 
laving  the  broken  and  picturesque  shore,  circling 
around  the  storied  islands,  and  opening  one  of  the 
great  highways  by  which  first  France  and  then  England 
found  their  way  to  the  heart  of  the  New  World. 
Magnificent  as  was  the  view,  even  more  so  then  than 
to-day,  and  competent  as  were  the  educated  eyes  of 
the  surgeon  to  read  and  comprehend  its  charm,  they 
roved  over  it  now  as  blankly  as  they  had  over  the 
printed  page  of  one  of  his  most-valued  medical 
treatises ;  even  the  sea-worn  and  battered  brigantine, 
anchored  almost  at  his  feet  as  it  looked,  her  decks 
and  rigging  swarming  with  men,  while  a  whole  fleet  of 
Indian  canoes  plied  back  and  forth  between  her  side 
and  the  pebbly  shore,  lay  unseen  before  the  eyes  whose 
blank  gaze  rested  only  upon  a  simulacre  of  the  table 
behind  him,  with  that  open  letter  lying  in  the  middle. 
But,  as  the  stern  gaze  never  faltered,  this  homely 
vision  slowly  faded  away,  and  clear  in  the  summer  air 
rose  another,  wavering  and  hovering  between  the  gazei 


THE  MAIL-BAG   OF   THE   "  VIRCE."       2 13 

and  the  undulating  tops  of  the  evergreen  forest  across 
the  river,  whither  now  his  eyes  were  directed,  —  the 
fair  vision  of  a  stately  chateau,  gray  with  ancestral 
honor  and  glory,  with  a  garden  at  its  feet  where  color 
and  perfume  and  warmth  and  delight  mingled  in  one 
sensuous  dream  of  beauty  and  enjoyment,  and,  in  the 
midst  of  a  drooping  tree,  a  form  — 

The  doctor  turned,  muttering  a  savage  malediction 
upon  his  own  folly,  and  snatching  up  the  letter  de- 
voured its  contents  with  hungry  eyes :  nothing  there 
written  could  be  so  dangerous  as  the  imaginations  it 
suggested  unread. 

The  first  part  was  simple  and  quieting  as  need  be ; 
mere  homely  details  of  Clotilde's  own  experiences, — 
how  she  had  married,  and  been  a  mother,  and  now  the 
child  and  the  husband  both  were  dead ;  and  she,  liv- 
ing with  her  married  brother  for  a  while,  but  meaning 
to  go  to  service  again  so  soon  as  madame  should  come 
back  from  Paris  and  take  her ;  and  then  with  all  the 
rambling  inconsequence  of  an  illiterate  writer  followed 
these  passages :  — 

"  But  you  did  not  know  that  before  I  was  married 
I  was  at  the  Chateau  de  Montarnaud  for  a  while  aftei 
the  old  count  was  dead,  and  Count  Gaston  de  Mont- 
arnaud came  to  the  property,  and  took  possession; 
and  when  he  went  away  he  would  not  take  madame  to 
Paris ;  they  said,  because  she  flirted  so  with  the  great 
lords  there,  but  at  all  events  he  left  her.  And  the 
housekeeper  recommended  me  to  mend  the  countess's 
laces,  for  you  know  the  nuns  taught  me  to  do  it  beau- 
tifully, and  so  I  went ;  and  when  she  knew  I  was  youi 


214  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

sister,  she  made  me  sit  always  in  her  bedchamber,  and 
talked  with  me  hours  at  a  time.  She  tried  so  hard  to 
make  me  tell  where  you  were,  that,  if  I  had  known, 
she  would  surely  have  got  it  from  me ;  but  I  only 
could  say  how  you  wished  so  much  to  go  to  see  our 
Saviour's  tomb  at  Jerusalem,  and  I  thought  you 
might  be  in  some  monastery  there.  But  she  said,  in 
an  angry  sort  of  way,  she  did  not  believe  it ;  and  then 
she  asked,  did  any  one  go  with  you?  but  how  could  I 
tell  when  I  did  not  know?  So  day  after  day  we 
talked  :  and,  brother,  I  can  tell  you  what  I  fancy  you 
want  to  know,  though  you  did  not  exactly  ask ;  but  it 
is  quite  true  that  Madame  la  Comtesse  would  rather 
be  Madame  la  Baronne  even  to-day.  I  would  not 
say  it  if  the  count  were  still  alive ;  but,  now  that  he  is 
nicely  killed  by  the  gentleman  whose  wife  he  carried 
away,  it  is  no  harm.  And  if  you  know  where  our  dear 
maste*  the  baron  is,  I  wish  you  would  tell  him  he  has 
only  to  come  home  and  marry  her,  and  be  Comte  de 
Montarnaud,  unless  the  little  Mademoiselle  The>6se 
is  her  father's  heiress  (I  do  not  know,  and  Father 
Jacques  says  he  does  not,  how  that  would  be)  ;  but  at 
any  rate,  when  I  saw  the  countess,  not  two  months 
ago,  oniy  a  few  weeks  after  the  count's  death,  she 
asked  me,  with  her  handsome  face  all  flushed  and 
bright  as  a  young  girl's,  if  I  had  not  yet  heard  one 
word  from  my  brother;  and  I  know  what  I  know. 
Yes,  yes,  brother !  I  know  full  well  that  she  has  never 
ceased  to  love  him ;  and  now  she  is  free,  and  hand- 
somer than  ever,  and  rich,  and  a  morsel  for  the  dain- 
tiest master.  And  she  promised  that  when  she  came 


THE  MAIL-BAG   OF  THE  "CIRCE."      215 

back  from  Paris,  whither  she  must  go  to  settle  the 
count's  affairs,  I  should  come  and  live  with  her  again, 
and  be  gouvernante  to  Mademoiselle  Theiese,  who  is 
four  months  old,  poor  little  darling." 

And  then  Madame  Clotilde's  letter  wandered  off 
again  into  personal  details ;  and,  having  read  it  to  the 
end,  the  doctor  slowly  folded  it,  laid  it  upon  the  table, 
and  stood  looking  gloomily  down  upon  it. 

"  Say,  Victor,  what  is  the  name  of  the  brigantine  ?  " 
asked  a  merry  soldier  voice  below  the  window.  And 
another  replied  with  a  laugh,  — 

"  '  CirceV  She  comes  to  tempt  us  all  to  desert  this 
barbarous  solitude,  and  get  a  passage  back  to  France ; 
don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  The  '  Circe1,' "  echoed  Dr.  LeBaron,  with  a  cynical 
smile.  "Yes;  but  only  fools  believed  in  Circe  twice." 

At  the  mess  supper-table  the  doctor  and  the  chap- 
kin  met  again ;  and,  when  the  meal  was  finished,  the 
priest  followed  his  friend  from  the  room  and  up  to  his 
own  quarters.  As  he  opened  the  door,  the  latter 
turned,  and  quietly  said,  — 

"Will  you  come  in,  and  take  your  letter,  abb£?  " 

The  abb£  silently  complied,  took  the  letter,  and 
without  glancing  at  it,  or  asking  if  it  had  been  read, 
put  it  in  the  pocket  of  his  soutane,  and  said,  — 

"  I  have  not  quite  emptied  my  budget  of  news  yet, 
my  friend." 

"No?    What  remains?" 

"  I  am  going  home.  I  am  recalled  by  my  superior 
Will  you  go  with  me? " 

"What,  to  France?" 


2l6  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"Yes :  why  not?  Your  father  and  your  brother  are 
dead  :  if  Gaston's  child  dies,  you  are  the  heir  of  your 
father's  estates,  as  well  as  your  mother's,  for  such  were 
the  terms  of  her  marriage  settlements.  You  have  worn 
out  by  time  and  travel  all  bitterness  or  pain  of  asso- 
ciation, and  may  settle  peacefully  down,  either  beneath 
your  vine  and  fig-tree  at  Montarnaud,  or  the  apple  and 
pear  trees  of  Normandy,  to  live  out  your  life  in  your 
own  country,  and  among  your  own  people ;  for  you  are, 
after  all,  a  Frenchman,  and  nothing  can  deprive  you 
of  that  proud  inheritance." 

Wily  abbe"  !  He  never  alluded  to  the  widowed  and 
regretful  Valerie ;  for  he  was  sure  that  the  letter  had 
done  its  work,  without  need  of  further  help. 

The  doctor,  striding  up  and  down  the  narrow  cham- 
ber, listened  attentively  to  the  end,  and,  as  the  abbe's 
voice  died  away,  stood  with  his  back  toward  the  room, 
staring  blankly  out  of  the  open  window  at  the  starless 
sky  and  unseen  shore.  Suddenly  he  turned,  and, 
without  approaching  the  other,  said  slowly  and  dis- 
tinctly, — 

"  I  do  not  think  my  wife  wishes  to  live  in  France  " 

"  Your  wife  ?    Mademoiselle  Marie  Wilder  ?  " 

"  No,  Madame  LeBaron,  as  she  herself  named  hei 
future  husband." 

"My  dear  baron,  I  have  got  one  more  piece  of 
news  for  you,  —  news  which  has  waited  two  good  years, 
and  to-night  is  to  be  produced." 

"It  seems  a  day  of  revelation,  man  abbe;  but  I  do 
not  think  your  last  news  will  stir  me  more  than  the 
first.  What  is  it?" 


THE  MAIL-BAG  OF  THE  "CIRCE?      2 1/ 

Father  Vincent  rose  from  the  chair  where  he  had 
thrown  himself,  and,  approaching  his  friend,  laid  a  hand 
upon  his  arm,  and  looked  earnestly  into  his  face.  It 
was  grave,  attentive,  and  expectant,  bat  not  so  agi- 
tated as  the  priest  would  have  had  it  He  was  a 
skilful  musician,  but  the  instrument  did  not  respond  as 
he  had  hoped. 

"  My  son,  you  were  but  a  child  when  your  father 
placed  you  in  my  charge ;  and  since  that  day  your 
welfare  and  improvement  have  been,  after  my  voca- 
tion, my  dearest  care." 

"  I  believe  it,  num  pert,  and  have  been  always,  as 
now,  grateful  and  reliant." 

"  I  am  now  to  tell  you  of  a  step  I  took  for  your 
sake  against  your  own  pleasure,  and  perhaps  against 
my  duty.  At  any  rate,  I  am  led  to  expect  that  my 
recall  is  due  to  the  confession  of  this  step,  which  I 
made  by  letter  to  my  superior ;  and  I  may  have  severe 
penance  to  undergo  on  my  arrival  with  him.  Mean- 
time you  win  perhaps  be  angry ;  and  yet  you  win  see 
upon  reflection  that  I  sacrificed  myself  for  you,  since  I 
knew  at  the  time  that  I  was  liable,  both  to  your  anger, 
and  to  ecclesiastical  censure  for  my  act,  and  yet "  — 

•*  For  Heaven's  sake,  abb£,  have  it  out,  and  let  die 
explanation  come  after  the  matter  to  be  explained! 
What  have  you  done?" 

"Rather,  what  did  I  leave  undone,  my  son!  I  wffl 
tell  you  in  one  word.  I  did  not  actually  many  you  to 
the  girl  whom  I  bat  now  styled  with  intention  Made- 
moiselle Mary  Wilder.  The  words  you  repeated  after 
me  were  no  more  than  those  of  solemn  troth-plight, 


2l8  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

and  those  which  I  muttered  afterward  were  but  one  cf 
the  penitential  psalms.  I  knew  that  you  were  to  leave 
her  immediately ;  I  knew  how  unlikely  it  was  that  you 
would  ever  return ;  I  had  seen  you  in  love,  more  or 
less,  three  or  four  times  already ;  I  knew  that,  if  you 
ever  should  return,  it  would  be  so  easy  to  complete 
the  ceremony  I  had  begun,  or  to  procure  dispensation 
for  you  from  the  vows  of  betrothal  you  had  assumed ; 
and  I  deceived  you  for  your  own  good,  mon  baron,  — 
for  your  own  good.  You  have  done  no  wrong  to  any 
one ;  and  you  stand  there  at  this  moment  a  free  man, 
—  free  to  return  to  your  estates,  to  your  home,  and 
to  —  any  wife  you  may  choose  to  wed.  No  law  of 
God  or  man  forbids." 

"No  law  except  one  you  do  not  comprehend,  as 
it  seems,  my  poor  little  abb6 ;  and  no  wonder,  since 
probably  it  was  not  taught  in  your  father's  shop.  I 
mean  the  law  of  honor." 

And,  with  a  look  of  withering  scorn,  the  doctor  was 
striding  from  the  room,  when  the  priest  seized  him  by 
the  arm,  and  said  in  a  broken  voice,  "  No,  no,  mon 
baron :  you  shall  not  go  until  you  forgive  me.  It  was 
for  love  of  you,  in  your  interests,  I  did  it.  What  other 
motive  could  I  have?  It  seemed  so  unlikely  you 
should  be  desirous,  even  if  you  were  able,  to  consum- 
mate so  unsuitable  an  alliance,  after  years  of  absence 
had  destroyed  the  romantic  illusions  under  which  you 
then  acted.  It  seemed  so  possible  that  just  what  has 
now  happened  should  happen :  that  you  should  be- 
come heir  to  the  estates,  and  return  to  possess  them ; 
and  what  could  you  do  with  a  low-born  rustic  for  your 
wife?" 


THE  MAIL-BAG   OF  THE  "  CIKC£."      2l<) 

"  Enough,  enough,  abbe1  !  Let  go  my  arm.  Nay, 
then,  here's  my  hand,  old  friend.  I  do  believe  thou 
didst  it  for  my  good ;  but  it  was  a  terrible  mistake, 
and  one  that  cannot  be  too  soon  rectified.  Still,  I 
was  wrong  to  throw  thine  honest  father's  shop  in  thy 
teeth,  and  I  crave  forgiveness  for  the  ungentle  taunt. 
But  for  the  rest,  —  first  move  the  rocks  on  which  this 
fortress  stands,  and  then  try  again,  if  you  will,  on  my 
determination :  it  is  the  firmer  of  the  two.  Shame 
on  me  to  confess  it,  there  was  a  moment  when  the 
Devil  tugged  hard  at  my  soul,  and  filled  it  with  sights 
and  sounds  and  memories  of  long  ago,  —  memories  so 
alluring,  that,  man-like,  I  half  regretted  that  I  was  fast 
bound  to  another  life.  But  I  never  once  dreamed  of 
the  dastard  course  you  would  have  had  me  pursue  — 
but  there,  then,  I  will  not  be  angry.  Our  ideas  differ 
in  such  matters,  man  pert,  —  differ  from  the  cradle. 
You  are  a  priest;  and  it  is  one  of  your  mottoes,  I 
believe,  you  Jesuits,  that  the  end  justifies  the  means  : 
but  we  others,  you  know,  we,  too,  have  our  watchword 
of  '  Noblesse  oblige ;  '  and  my  mother  taught  me  those 
words,  and  somewhat  of  their  meaning,  as  soon  as  I 
could  speak.  We  both  must  live  after  our  traditions, 
mon  pere  ;  but  I  forgive  you  heartily,  and  crave  your 
forgiveness,  and  only  trust  your  superior  may  not  be 
too  hard  upon  the  irregularity,  as  we  must  call  it." 

"  I  don't  know,"  muttered  the  abb£  ruefully,  as  the 
doctor  in  his  white  heat  of  excitement  walked  to  the 
window,  and  leaned  out  for  a  moment  into  the  cool 
darkness  of  the  night.  "To  be  sure,  there  was  no 
mass  :  it  cannot  be  called  a  sacrilege ;  but  —  the  supe- 
rior is  very  severe,  and  it  was  irregular." 


22O  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAW. 

"And  now,"  resumed  the  baron,  returning,  "my 
next  step  is  to  get  my  discharge ;  since  peace  is  de- 
clared, that  can  be  no  difficult  matter :  and  then 
southward,  so  fast  as  horseflesh  will  carry  me,  to  claim 
my  wife ;  for  wife  she  is  in  the  eye  of  God  already, 
and  shall  be  so  in  the  eye  of  man  so  soon  as  she  may 
be  made  so." 

"  You  will  find  no  priest  there ;  and  a  marriage  by 
one  of  those  snuffling  Huguenot  ministers  is  no  mar- 
riage," said  the  abbe'  half  triumphantly. 

"  Then  it  will  be  a  civil  ceremony  before  a  magis- 
trate," replied  Francois  coldly ;  "  and  perhaps  that  is 
better,  for  I  hold  that  the  religious  service  has  been 
already  performed  sufficiently  to  satisfy  all  require- 
ments. God  is  true,  although  His  priests  may  palter 
with  his  truth.  And  I  doubt  not  the  honest  intention 
of  the  two  who  thought  themselves  wed  that  night  is 
stronger  in  His  eyes,  than  the  deceitful  informality  of 
the  ceremony." 

"  You  are  very  severe,  mon  baron." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  my  nature,  mon  pere.  Yet  here 
is  my  hand  again,  and  we  part  firm  friends." 

"  But  I  must  return  to  France  all  alone  ;  and,  when 
I  left  it,  I  swore  never  to  part  from  you  if  I  could  help 
it,"  said  the  priest  mournfully. 

"  Yes ;  but  now  you  cannot  help  it,  nor  can  I,"  re- 
plied the  baron  steadfastly,  and  left  the  room. 


THE  BUNCH  OF  GRAPES.  221 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

THE   BUNCH   OF  GRAPES. 

TT  was  toward  sunset  of  a  lovely  day  in  June  that  a 
J.  stranger  rode  slowly  into  the  town  of  Plymouth,  — 
old  Plymouth,  Plymouth  of  the  Pilgrims. 

Do  you  know  the  Plymouth  of  to-day,  —  the  quiet, 
sleepy  little  town,  with  its  few  drowsy  lions,  and  its 
little  store  of  relics?  and  have  you,  you  who  have 
either  risen  above  the  pride  of  ancestry,  or  claim  some 
other  lineage  than  that  of  Mayflower  Pilgrims,  —  have 
you  made  the  little  round  of  these,  and  gone  away 
wondering  why  you  ever  came  hither,  and  what  any- 
body finds  in  Plymouth  to  draw  them  there  year  after 
year ;  and  why  her  children,  wheresoever  they  may 
wander,  turn  so  eagerly  back,  in  body  may  be,  at  any 
rate  in  heart,  to  the  old  Rock,  as  year  by  year  the 
22d  of  December  comes  round,  and  they  say  to  each 
other  with  shining  eyes,  — 

"  It  is  Forefathers'  Day  in  dear  old  Plymouth." 
Have  you  wondered  why  it  should  be  thus  ?  and  do 
you  still  wonder?  Well,  I  cannot  tell  you;  but  the 
gray  old  sphinx  of  a  town  knows  the  answer  to  that 
riddle,  and  several  others,  and  tells  them,  too,  to  him 
who  has  ears  and  heart  to  listen,  and  eyes  wherewith 
to  see  the  sights  she  will  show  in  the  dim  twilight  on 


222  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

Burying  Hill ;  or  when  the  moon  throws  strange  shad- 
ows upon  the  midnight  streets ;  or  when  at  high  tide, 
the  gray  fog  shutting  off  all  else,  one  hears  the  lap- 
ping of  the  waves  upon  the  beach,  and  remembers 
with  a  thrill  of  awe  that  sea  and  sky  and  fog  and 
sandy  beach  are  unchanged  and  unchangeable  for 
all  the  changes  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  years. 

Oh  !  to  a  child  of  the  Pilgrims,  with  their  blood 
warm  at  his  heart,  their  names  his  proudest  boast, 
their  calm  strength  and  unconscious  grandeur  of  life 
his  greatest  ensample  among  mortal  men,  —  to  such  an 
one  the  genius  of  the  old  town  is  neither  silent  nor 
chary  of  her  gifts ;  for  him  in  those  still  hours  she 
recalls  the  noble  forms  of  Bradford,  and  Carver,  and 
Standish,  consulting  with  the  venerable  Brewster,  as 
they  stroll  along  the  shore,  how  food  shall  be  pro- 
cured for  the  well-nigh  starving  community,  how  the 
savage  foe  shall  best  be  conquered  into  a  friend,  and 
the  faithless  friends  in  England  be  made  to  fulfil  their 
compact ;  or  again  she  shows  the  same  men,  leaders, 
gentlemen,  and  scholars  though  they  were,  toiling  up 
the  steep  ascent  of  Leyden  Street,  bearing  their  bur- 
dens with  the  rest  from  the  seashore  to  the  common- 
house  whose  site  is  still  lovingly  remembered ;  or,  going 
a  little  farther  back,  she  shows  the  desecrated  Rock 
restored  to  its  lonely  dignity,  and  beside  it  the  clumsy 
boat  of  "  The  Mayflower  "  whence  the  Pilgrims  step 
with  solemn  thanksgiving  upon  this  the  threshold  of 
their  new  home,  whose  magnificence  they  do  not  yet 
suspect.  And  not  the  men  alone  :  for  beside  the  stately 
and  elegant  Carver,  already  governor  of  the  colony, 


THE  BUNCH  OF  GRAPES.  22$ 

stands  Katharine  his  fair  dame;  and  Standish  leads 
his  Rose,  and  Priscilla  Mullins  makes  way  for  the 
young  matron,  little  guessing  how  soon  that  place 
might  be  her  own ;  and  John  Alden  gazes  at  Priscilla, 
and  thinks  how  fair  she  is ;  and  Warren  and  Winslow 
and  Rowland  are  there,  and  Elder  Brewster's  fail 
daughters,  Love  and  Ruth,  and  many  another  maid 
soon  to  be  a  wife.  And  then,  as  the  scene  changes, 
one  sees  the  stern,  rough  soldier  Standish,  and  Bradford 
the  statesman  and  scholar,  and  Carver  the  aristocrat, 
attending  the  sick  smitten  down  by  the  pestilence  of 
that  first  winter,  nursing  them  with  the  patient  tender- 
ness of  women  and  the  strength  of  men,  until  they 
had  buried  more  than  half  of  their  company  upon  the 
hill  beside  the  shore  ;  planting  their  graves  with  wheat, 
that  the  Indians  might  not  see  how  many  there  were. 
I  wonder,  when  they  eat  bread  of  that  grain,  if  they  did 
not  remember,  "  Except  a  corn  of  wheat  fall  into  the 
ground,  and  perish,  it  bringeth  forth  no  fruit." 

Well,  one  must  linger  no  longer,  but,  passing  on 
some  threescore  years,  come  to  the  Bunch  of  Grapes. 
It  was  the  tavern  of  Plymouth  then,  and  for  a  century 
later,  —  a  long,  low-browed  building,  the  upper  story 
overhanging  the  lower  by  a  foot  or  so,  with  a  great 
carved  and  gilded  bunch  of  grapes  hanging  from  each 
corner  of  the  projecting  story.  A  quaint  old  house, 
and  with  plenty  of  stories  of  its  own  which  we  may 
some  day  rehearse  together ;  but  just  now  we  must  be 
steadfast  to  the  summer  evening  when  LeBaron  rode 
up  to  the  door,  and  sat  waiting  for  some  one  to  take 
his  horse,  and  bid  him  welcome.  But  a  moment'8 


224  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

observation  showed  that  all  was  not  well  with  the 
Bunch  of  Grapes  and  its  inmates.  The  latticed  win- 
dows all  swung  wide  to  the  sweet  summer,  and  the 
doors  stood  hospitably  open :  but  neither  rosy  land- 
lord, nor  buxom  landlady,  nor  smiling  waiter  appeared 
to  welcome  the  guest ;  and  the  two  or  three  old  topers 
seated  upon  the  bench  beside  the  door  seemed  too 
much  absorbed  in  some  wonder-fraught  gossip  to  do 
more  than  casually  stare  at  him,  and  then  back  to 
their  whispered  dialogue.  Glancing  impatiently  at 
them,  the  doctor  threw  himself  from  his  horse,  and 
rapped  sharply  with  his  whip-handle  upon  a  panel  of 
the  stout  oaken-door ;  but,  as  if  this  had  been  the  sig- 
nal for  some  dire  catastrophe,  a  dismal  shriek  re- 
sounded through  the  upper  chambers,  followed  by 
such  a  rapid  succession  of  shrill  screams,  cries  articu- 
late and  inarticulate,  sobs,  and  peals  of  maniacal  laugh- 
ter, that  the  listeners  gasped  for  breath,  and  turned 
pale  even  to  their  gorgeous  noses. 

"Why,  what  is  this?  What  is  doing  here?"  de- 
manded Dr.  LeBaron,  seizing  by  the  arm  a  trembling 
lad  in  a  white  apron  who  now  appeared  at  the  door  of 
one  of  the  lower  apartments. 

"I  —  I  don't  know,  sir;  but  I  guess  it's  missus," 
replied  the  lad,  bursting  into  blubbering  sobs,  and 
rapidly  withdrawing  to  the  seclusion  of  the  bar. 

"What  is  the  matter  up  there?"  repeated  the 
doctor  in  his  most  peremptory  tones,  as  he  strode  to 
the  outer  door,  and  collared  a*  man  who  stood  peeping 
fearfully  in. 

"Why,  you  see,  sir,"  returned  this  individual,  gently 


THE  BUNCH  OF  GRAPES.  22$ 

from  the  inconvenient  grasp,  and  settling  his 
b?ck-gear  as  he  spoke,  "  Dame  Tilley  has  got  to  have 
her  leg  cut  off;  and,  poor  soul,  she  takes  it  to  heart  a 
bit." 

"  Oho,  that's  it ! "  exclaimed  the  surgeon,  his  curi- 
osity rapidly  changing  to  professional  interest.  "  Aud 
why  must  the  good  woman  lose  her  leg?  " 

"All  along  of  a  bad  knee  that  the  doctors  can't 
cure,  sir;  and  they  be  afraid  it  will  spread,  I  believe." 

"  What,  the  knee  spread  ?  Surely,  that  were  a  novel 
mischance  !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor,  smiling.  "And  so 
the  amputation  is  now  in  progress? " 

"  Anan." 

"They  are  cutting  off  the  leg  just  now?  " 

"  Why,  the  doctors  be  up  there ;  but  I  guess  they 
haven't  buckled  to't  yet.  There's  not  been  time." 

"Who  are  the  doctors?" 

"  There's  Pilsbury  from  New  Bedford,  he's  the  main 
one;  but  old  Dr.  Coffin  from  Sandwich,  and  Hallo- 
well,  our  own  doctor  such  as  he  is,  they're  up  there 
helping.  Lord  !  how  she  do  screech  !  I'll  lay  they're 
a-cutting  into  her  now." 

"  She's  in  an  hysteric  fit.  They  won't  handle  her 
that  way,"  muttered  the  doctor  uneasily;  and  then, 
opening  the  door  of  the  bar-room,  he  peremptorily 
beckoned  forth  the  tapster,  who  was  solacing  his  grief 
by  a  tankard  of  small  beer. 

"  Here,  Jacques,  come  here  and  get  this  shilling  for 
yourself,"  ordered  he ;  and  Jacques,  whose  name  was 
Zebedee,  came  at  once,  a  subdued  grin  struggling 
oddly  with  fright,  terror,  and  beer,  upon  his  counte- 
nance. 


226  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Now  go  up-stairs  as  fast  as  you  can,  and  tell  your 
master  that  a  surgeon  of  the  army  is  here,  who  would 
like  to  help  at  the  operation  if  he  will  permit,  and  ask 
him  to  beg  permission  of  the  worthy  surgeons  already 
on  the  field." 

"Yes,  sir."  And  Zebedee,  spurred  to  intelligence 
as  well  as  haste  by  the  shilling  already  in  hand  and 
the  hope  of  more  to  come,  did  his  errand  so  well  that 
in  about  two  minutes  he  returned  with  the  landlord  a: 
his  heels,  his  honest  face  pale  and  troubled,  and  his 
voice  broken  with  emotion  through  the  professional 
cordiality  it  mechanically  assumed  in  greeting  a  guest 
of  evident  social  consequence. 

"Zeb  told  mo  you  were  an  army-doctor,  sir,  and 
had  kindly  offered  to  "  — 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  good  friend :  it  is  hard  for  you,  but 
these  things  can  be  made  less  painful  sometimes  by 
dexterity  and  practice.  Perhaps  I  may  be  of  some 
use ;  as  I  have,  I  suppose,  amputated  hundreds  of  limbs 
where  a  country  practitioner  has  one.  Bring  me  up, 
if  these  gentleman  consent." 

"  Lord  !  yes,  sir ;  and,  if  they  didn't,  I'd  rather  put 
my  poor  woman  into  your  hands  alone,  than  theirs ; 
for  Dr.  Pilsbury  he's  old  and  fumbling,  and  so's 
Coffin ;  and  Hallowell  knows  more  of  cows  and  horses 
than  of  humans.  This  way,  sir." 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  large  front  room,  where, 
upon  a  bed  drawn  into  the  middle  of  the  floor,  lay  the 
unfortunate  woman,  her  face  flushed  and  swollen,  her 
long  bkck  hair  floating  wildly,  her  hands  clenched, 
and  her  eytj  roving  from  face  to  face  of  those  crowd- 


THE  BUNCH  OF  GRAPES.  22? 

ing  around  her  bed,  more  with  the  hunted  and  fero- 
cious look  of  a  wild  animal  at  bay  than  of  a  suffering 
patient  in  the  hands  of  physicians  whom  she  trusts  tc 
relieve  and  save  her,  even  through  the  agency  of 
sharpest  pain. 

Consulting  together  in  whispers  around  the  table, 
where  some  surgical  instruments  were  boldly  displayed, 
stood  the  three  doctors,  —  two  of  them  the  red-faced, 
gray-iiaired,  hard,  and  well-grooved  country  practi- 
tioner, who,  after  a  youth  of  bewildered  experiment 
and  doubt,  has  in  middle  or  later  life  settled  upon  a 
narrow  round  of  treatment  and  drugs,  and  adapts  all 
cures  to  them.  The  third,  a  younger  man,  who,  with- 
out making  pretence  to  a  diploma  or  an  education, 
did  what  he  could,  and  as  he  could,  to  relieve  the 
ailments  of  his  townsmen  and  their  cattle,  stood 
listening  deferentially  to  the  opinions  of  his  superiors, 
offering  an  occasional  hesitating  remark,  to  which  the 
magnates  scarcely  paid  any  attention.  A  mob  of 
women  —  servants  and  neighbors,  the  mother  of  the 
sick  woman,  and  her  sister  with  a  baby  in  her  arms  — • 
filled  the  room,  and  surrounded  the  bed,  almost  to  the 
exclusion  of  the  air  for  which  the  poor  fevered  crea- 
ture was  panting. 

"If  it  was  a  dumb  creetur,  now,"  Hallowell  was 
saying  as  the  landlord  re-entered  the  room,  "  I  should 
say  there  wa'n't  no  need  of  cutting  on't  off  at  all. 
Squire  Watson's  cow  had  a  bad  leg  last  winter,  and  I 
doctored  it,  and  cured  it,  and  she's  a  well  cow  to-day ; 
but  then  "  — 

"  But  then,  you  must  remember,  Master  Hallowell, 


228  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

that  it's  not  a  cow  we  are  talking  of,  but  a  human," 
interposed  Dr.  Pilsbury  with  some  acrimony;  "and 
one  kind  of  treatment  won't  answer  for  both.  What 
I  say  is,  that  woman's  leg  is  to  come  off:  and,  if  she 
won't  consent,  we'll  just  strap  her  down,  and  take  it 
off  without  her  consent;  and  that  quickly,  for  the 
Bight's  going,  and  my  eyes  are  not  what  they  used  to 
be." 

"  Good-evening,  gentlemen.  Will  you  allow  me  to 
look  at  your  patient,  and  add  my  poor  experience  to 
yours  in  conducting  the  operation  ?  " 

At  sound!  of  this  calm,  harmonious,  and  cultivated 
voice,  the  somewhat  heated  and  excited  practitioners 
turned,  and  surveyed  the  new-comer  with  surprise  and 
a  little  professional  jealousy. 

"Good-evening,  sir,"  said  Dr.  Pilsbury  at  length. 
"  You  are  an  army  surgeon,  landlord  Tilley  says." 

"  Yes,  of  the  royal  army,  and  naturally  of  some 
little  experience,"  replied  the  new-comer ;  and  then, 
without  waiting  until  his  rival  should  gather  self-pos- 
session to  inquire,  "Under  which  king,  Bezonian?" 
he  approached  the  bed,  and  courteously  waving  aside 
the  throng  of  women,  and  murmuring  to  the  patient, 
"  Permit  me,  madam  ! "  he  deftly  turned  aside  the 
clothes,  and  examined  the  suffering  member,  whose 
wrappings  had  already  been  removed  in  preparation 
for  amputation. 

The  three  practitioners  drew  near,  and  looked  on 
with  jealous  attention;  and  the  sick  woman,  calmed 
and  comforted,  she  knew  not  how,  by  the  look  of  that 
powerful  and  assured  face,  and  the  touch  of  hands 


THE  BUNCH  OF  GRAPES.  22Q 

fine  as  a  woman's,  and  strong  as  a  ploughman's,  said, 
with  a  long,  quivering  sigh,  — 

"  O  doctor,  if  you  could  only  save  it  to  me  !  I'm 
but  a  young  woman,  and  a  stirring  one ;  and  if  so  be 
I've  got  to  die,  I'll  die  :  but  I  won't  live  a  cripple,  to 
hobble  round  on  crutches  like  an  old  granny ;  I  won't, 
I  won't,  I  won't !  " 

Her  voice  rose  to  an  hysterical  shriek,  and  her 
clenched  hands  beat  furiously  upon  the  counterpane. 

"  She's  going  off  again  !  "  cried  one  woman,  and,  — 

"  Now,  Betty,  Betty,  don't  'ee,  don't  'ee,  that's  a  good 
lass  ! "  added  another ;  and  the  mother,  asserting  her 
privilege,  elbowed  her  way  to  the  front,  sharply  ex- 
claiming, — 

"Now,  Betty  Tilley,  be  done  with  that,  if  thou 
knows  what's  good  for  thyself!  Come,  then,  ar'n't 
you  ashamed  to  be  such  a  baby,  and  these  good  folk 
all  here  to  see  thee  have  thy  leg  off  like  a  brave 
woman,  and  "  — 

"  Nay,  then,  mother-in-law,"  broke  in  the  landlord : 
"  sure  it  is  no  time  to  be  flouting  at  the  poor  thing, 
and  scolding  never  comforted  a  sick  woman  yet." 

The  mother-in-law  replied,  the  other  women  cho- 
rused, the  baby  began  to  scream,  and  the  patient  to 
cry  hysterically,  and  toss  herself  about  in  the  bed  sob- 
bing, "  I  won't,  then,  I  won't,  »I  won't :  I  tell  ye  all 
there'll  be  no  show,  for  I  won't  have  it  off." 

LeBaron  looked  at  Dr.  Pilsbury,  and  saw  that  he 
had  lost  his  head,  and  knew  not  what  course  to  pur- 
sue ;  at  Dr.  Coffin,  who  feebly  followed  the  example 
of  his  superior ;  and  at  Mr.  Hallowell,  who,  abashed  by 


230  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

Pilsbury's  reproof,  no  longer  ventured  to  hold  any 
opinion  at  all.  In  this  emergency  he  seized  the 
landlord  by  the  arm,  and  drew  him  out  of  the  en- 
counter, where  he  was  rapidly  getting  worsted  by  the 
nimble  tongues  of  his  opponents,  and  sternly  de- 
manded of  him,  — 

"Do  you  know  that  all  this  is  killing  your  wife?" 
"Ay,  but  what's  to  be  done,  sir?    You  see  "  — 
"Turn   every  human   creature    out   of   the   room 
except  those  three   doctors,  and    keep    the    house 
quiet." 

"That  I'll  do,  if  you'll  stand  by,  and  see  that  they 
don't  hack  and  hew  at  my  poor  lass  while  I'm  away, 
and  she  screeching  that  they  sha'n't." 

"No  one  shall  touch  her  to-night,  at  least,  —  I'll 
promise  you  that.  Come,  now,  out  with  every  one  of 
them,  in  the  twinkle  of  an  eye  ! " 

Then,  leaving  this  somewhat  difficult  task  in  the 
willing  hands  of  the  landlord,  the  surgeon  returned  to 
the  side  of  the  raving  woman,  and,  taking  both  her 
hands  in  his,  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and 
said,  in  a  calmly  assured  voice,  — 

"Now  you  are  to  be  quiet,  dame,  do  you  hear?" 
Gradually,  beneath  that  firm  grasp  and  firmer  eye, 
the  contortions  of  body  and  frenzy  of  mind  subsided 
into  languid  moaning  and  tears ;  and  then  the  doctor, 
gently  smoothing  the  hair  from  the  poor  corrugated 
brow  and  hot  cheeks,  said  gently,  — 

"  Nothing  is  to  be  done  to-night  but  to  rest  and 
refresh  yourself,  dame.  Will  you  be  good,  and  try  to 
sleep?" 


THE  BUNCH   OF  GRAPES.  2$\ 

"  And  know  my  leg  is  to  be  cut  off  in  the  morn- 
lug?"  whimpered  the  woman.  "If  you  would  say 
that  it  could  be  cured,  I'd  sleep  gay  and  well." 

"  Come,  then,  now  that  you  are  quiet,  and  the  room 
is  still,  I  shall  look  at  it  once  more,  and  we  shall  see 
what  we  shall  see,  madam." 

Once  more  he  examined  the  limb  minutely,  re- 
peatedly, thoroughly  yet  gently,  and  then,  laying  the 
clcthes  over  it,  turned,  and  beckoned  his  colleagues 
to  follow  him  from  the  room.  Outside  the  door  they 
found  the  landlord  standing  sentry,  with  a  stout  staff 
in  his  hand. 

"  I  said  I'd  crack  the  head  of  the  first  one  that 
came  up  those  stairs  without  leave,  doctor ;  and  I'll  do 
it  too,"  exclaimed  he  valiantly,  and  addressing  the 
latest  comer  as  the  acknowledged  head  of  the  consul- 
tation. 

"And  you  did  well,  my  friend,"  replied  LeBaron 
gravely.  "  Now  go  in  there,  and  speak  calmly  and 
gently  to  your  wife,  but  talk  as  little  as  may  be.  I 
will  see  that  no  one  comes  up  stairs." 

Then  leading  his  companions  a  little  farther  from 
the  door,  he  turned ;  and,  laying  a  finger  lightly  and 
impressively  upon  Dr.  Pilsbury's  breast,  he  said,  — 

"That  leg  can  be  saved.  It  must  not  be  am- 
putated." 

"  Nonsense,  man  ! "  blustered  the  old  doctor.  "  The 
woman  will  die  if  the  leg  don't  come  off.  It  shall 
come  off ! " 

"It  shall  not  come  off,  if  the  landlord  takes  my 
advice,  and  I  think  he  will,"  replied  LeBaron  firmly. 


232  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"Very  well,"  exclaimed  Pilsbury :  "I  throw  up  the 
case." 

"  And  I  take  it,"  calmly  returned  LeBaron. 


DAME   TfLLEY'S  LEG.  233 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

DAME  TELLEV'S  LEG. 

THEY  want  you  out  there,  Tilley,"  whispered 
Mr.  Hallowell  in  the  landlord's  ear ;  and  leav- 
ing the  subdued  and  silent  vet.  beside  his  wife's  bed, 
the  landlord  went  into  the  passage,  and,  was  con- 
fronted by  the  red  and  furious  face  of  Dr.  Pilsbury, 
who  exclaimed  in  a  voice  thick  with  anger,  — 

"  Look  at  here,  Tilley !  are  you  going  to  let  this 
man,  a  stranger,  and  nobody  knows  who,  take  charge 
of  your  wife  ?  or  am  I  to  do  so  ?  We  can't  both ;  and 
if  he  stays,  I  go,  —  that's  all." 

"  The  fact  is  here,  my  good  friend,"  interposed  the 
cool  voice  of  the  other,  before  poor  John  Tilley  could 
stammer  out  any  reply  at  all :  "  this  gentleman  is  sure 
that  it  is  necessary  to  cut  off  your  wife's  leg  to  save 
her  life ;  I  am  equally  sure  that  it  is  not,  and  that  I 
can,  if  not  interfered  with,,  save  both  leg  and  life. 
Shall  I  try?" 

"  I'm  sure,  gentlemen,  I'm  sure  you're  very  good, 
both  of  you ;  and  I  am  loath  indeed  to  offend  Dr.  Pils- 
bury, that  every  one  calls  such  a  fine  doctor ;  but  poor 
Betty,  she's  so  set  against  losing  the  leg,  —  and  if  this 
gentleman  is  dead-sure  he  can  cure  it,  and  is  an  army 
surgeon,  and  used  to  these  things  "  — 


234  A    NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Oh,  I  see,  I  see,  goodman  !  "  interrupted  Pilsbury, 
pushing  rudely  past  LeBaron,  who  retreated  with  a 
courteous  bow  :  "  you'd  rather  have  this  fellow,  whose 
name  even  you  don't  know,  and  so  save  my  fee ;  for  I 
suppose  he'll  take  his  pay  in  beer  "  — 

"One  moment,  if  you  please,  my  dear  doctor," 
interposed  LeBaron  quietly :  "  professional  brothers 
should  never  forget  the  courtesies  of  their  cliqne.  Al- 
low me  to  offer  my  card.  If  you  care  to  glance  at  it, 
I  should  be  glad  to  show  you  my  diploma,  ani  com- 
mission as  surgeon  in  the  French  army." 

"  Oh,  a  Frenchman  ! "  exclaimed  both  the  doctor 
and  the  publican  in  a  breath.  The  surgeon  gravely 
bowed. 

"  Yes,  gentleman,  a  Frenchman." 

"  Well,  Tilley,  if  you're  going  to  give  ovi  r  your 
wife  to  be  murdered  by  a  French  quack,  you  re  not 
the  man  I  take  you  for,"  said  Pilsbury,  puttrng  his 
nose  in  the  air  so  as  to  bring  his  spectacles  tn  bear 
upon  the  card  in  his  hand. 

Goodman  Tilley  looked  bewildered;  and  glanced 
first  at  the  irate  yet  triumphant  face  of  the  long-known 
and  venerated  Pilsbury,  then  at  the  calm,  handsome, 
and  slightly  sneering  one  of  the  stranger  and  the 
Frenchman.  At  last  he  said  in  a  hesitating  and  reluc- 
tant voice,  — 

"  Well,  Dr.  Pilsbury,  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  ask  you 
to  —  no,  dang  it  all,  I  won't  neither!  I  like  this 
man's  looks,  and  I  believe  he  knows  what  he  says, 
and  can  do  what  he  promises :  and  as  for  Frenchmen, 
why,  it's  peace  now  'twixt  us  and  them;  and  if  it 


DAME    TILLEY'S  LEG.  2$$ 

wa'n't,  and  if  he  was  the  very  Old  Fellow  himself, 
horns  and  hoofs  and  all,  and  could  save  Betty's  leg 
I'd  let  him,  so  be  he  didn't  meddle  with  ner  soul." 

"  Well,  I  can  promise  so  much,"  replied  LeBaron, 
heartily  grasping  the  hand  of  the  honest  landlord  laid 
in  his ;  "  and  I  will  undertake  the  case  in  the  interests 
of  humanity,  if  you  will  agree  on  your  side,  that  I  shall 
pay  my  reckoning  at  this  inn  like  any  other  guest, 
and  shall  receive  no  fee,  but  that  this  gentleman  and 
the  others  shall  be  paid  whatever  has  been  promised 
for  their  services." 

"  Why,  that's  handsome,  and  more  than  they  could 
ask,"  replied  Tilley  in  a  tone  of  evident  relief.  "And 
if  you'll  go  in  and  speak  to  Betty,  sir,  I'll  follow  the 
doctor,  and  give  him  a  good  glass  of  strong  waters 
before  he  starts,  and  talk  him  round  a  bit.  As  for  old 
Coffin,  it  don't  matter ;  and  our  own  man,  Hallowell, 
isn't  of  much  account  anyway." 

The  landlord  hurried  away;  and  Dr.  LeBaron  re- 
turned to  the  bed-chamber,  where  he  found  the  veteri- 
nary examining  the  limb,  and  the  patient  regarding 
him  with  suspicious  and  uneasy  glances. 

"  If  you  please,  doctor,"  said  the  new-comer  very 
courteousl/,  taking  the  bed-covering  from  the  other's 
hand,  and  drawing  it  over  the  limb,  "  the  case  has,  I 
believe,  been  confided  to  my  charge,  and  I  will  attend 
to  it." 

"  Oh  !  certain,  certain,  doctor,"  replied  the  vet.  obse- 
quiously ;  "  and  if,  as  I  gether,  you  think  it  can  be  cured 
instead  of  cut  off,  why,  I'm  of  your  opinion  too,  and 
wanted  to  say  so ;  only  they  wouldn't  hearken  to  me, 


236  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

being  an  onlarned  man,  but  with  a  good  nateral  gift 
for  physic  and  such  matters." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  speak  with  you  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, at  eight  o'clock,  if  you  will  do  me  the  honor  to 
call,"  replied  the  Frenchman  with  exquisite  urbanity. 
"  But  just  now  my  only  object  is  to  quiet  my  patient, 
and  give  her  a  good  night's  rest."  And,  hardly  know- 
ing how  or  why,  the  worthy  vet.  found  himself  going 
down  stairs  with  two  vague  impressions  struggling  in 
his  mind,  —  one,  that  the  new  doctor  was  a  very  skilful 
and  also  agreeable  man ;  the  other,  that  he  should  have 
liked  to  stay  longer  in  his  society,  and  wondered  why 
he  did  not. 

Presenting  himself  next  morning  at  the  appointed 
hour,  Master  Hallowell  found  himself  courteously  re- 
ceived by  the  new  doctor,  and  called  not  so  much  to  a 
consultation,  as  a  clinical  lecture  at  Dame  Tilley'a 
bedside,  where  he  received  in  a  scant  half-hour  more 
instruction  on  the  subject  of  the  knee-joint  and  its 
peculiar  temptations  to  disease,  than  he  ever  had 
gathered  in  his  life  before. 

"  And  there  will  be  no  need  of  amputation  ?  "  asked 
he  timidly,  as  the  two  retired  from  the  sick-room. 

"  Amputation  !  "  exclaimed  Dr.  LeBaron  contemptu- 
ously. "  It  should  never  have  been  mentioned  in  the 
case.  The  clown  cuts  dr-^.  the  cankered  tree:  die 
gardener  cures  it,  and  eajoys  the  fruit" 


THE  DARK  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  DARK  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN. 

DEBORAH  WILDER  never  quite  recovered  from 
the  rheumatic  fever  in  whose  grasp  we  left  her, 
but  rose  from  her  bed  a  decrepit  and  feeble  imitation 
of  the  tireless  and  restless  woman  who  had  lain  down 
upon  it.  All  the  rest  of  the  winter  and  spring  she  led 
a  mummy-like  existence,  swathed  in  red  flannels, 
night-caps,  and  felt  slippers,  and  hovering  over  the 
fire,  while  everybody  else  was  panting  for  a  breath  of 
fresh  air;  and  although  in  the  heats  of  summer  the 
foe  released  his  hold  for  a  little  while,  and  the  poor 
victim  tried  to  stir  about  the  house  and  resume  her 
manifold  duties,  it  was  soon  evident  that  both  strength 
and  ability  were  gone  for  a  while,  if  not  forever,  while 
the  power  of  fault-finding  and  dictation  flourished 
more  vigorously  than  ever  upon  the  ruins.  Strong 
and  brave  and  sweet  as  was  her  daughter's  nature, 
the  year  succeeding  her  mother's  illness  tried  it  to  the 
utmost,  and  might  have  broken  it  down  at  last  but  for 
the  occasional  half-hour  by  day  or  night  when  the 
girl  stole  away  to  sit  in  her  little  hidden  priest's 
chamber,  and  dream  over  every  word  that  had  been 
spoken  there,  every  look  and  caress  that  faithful 
memon  reproduced,  and  to  dwell  upon  the  sweet 


238  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAM 

vague  hopes  of  the  future,  when  Francois  was  to  come 
to  claim  her,  and  she  should  persuade  him  to  remain 
at  the  farm  and  make  all  her  duties  light  by  advice 
and  sympathy,  while  he  himself  should  achieve  a 
wonderful  reputation  by  his  medical  skill,  and  in  time 
become  as  famous  as  Dr.  Pilsbury  himself.  Then  she 
settled  how  his  room  should  be  arranged,  and,  shyly 
glancing  at  the  possibility  that  it  might  be  her  room  as 
well,  deeply  considered  the  subject  of  furniture  and 
ornament,  and  resolved  that  for  the  first  few  months, 
at  any  rate,  Grandmother  Ames's  curtains  should  be 
applied  to  their  original  use ;  and,  having  dressed  the 
bride,  should  afterward  decorate  her  bridal  chamber. 

Then  the  poor  child  would  take  from  her  bosom 
the  amethyst  ring,  symbol  of  her  mock-marriage,  and 
kiss  it,  and  admire  it,  and  remember  how  she  first  had 
seen  it  on  the  cold  wet  hand  of  the  half-dead  man  she 
had  brought  across  her  father's  threshold,  and  nursed 
back  to  life  and  love. 

There  had  been  a  crest  cut  upon  the  ring ;  but  by 
some  strange  accident,  as  she  imagined,  a  piece  had 
been  chipped  from  the  face  of  the  gem  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  quite  obliterate  the  device.  Nor  would 
Molly  have  been  the  wiser  had  it  remained :  for  her 
education  in  the  gentle  art  of  heraldry  had  never  been 
so  much  as  begun ;  and  sable,  argent,  gules,  and  azure, 
passant,  sejant,  rampant,  and  couchant,  were  words 
conveying  no  meaning  to  her  ear. 

But  the  ring  had  belonged  to  Francois ;  he  had  him- 
self placed  it  upon  her  finger,  and  called  l.er  wife  in 
doing  so;  and  the  Kohinoor  itself  would  not  have 
tempted  her  to  an  exchange. 


THE  DARK  HOUR  BEFORE  DA  WN.      239 

So  life  went  on  in  the  farmhouse  by  the  sea,  with 
much  hard  work,  very  few  enjoyments,  no  society,  a 
deal  of  pain  and  suffering  to  the  mother,  and  through 
her  to  the  daughter,  until  all  minor  discomforts  and 
annoyances  were  put  to  flight  by  one  terrible  blow,  as 
the  smoking  of  the  kitchen-chimney  is  forgotten  when 
a  thunderbolt  tears  through  the  house. 

Soon  after  noon  on  a  fearfully  hot  day  in  July,  Hum- 
phrey Wilder  was  brought  in  from  the  hay-field  by  four 
men,  speechless,  senseless,  dying.  The  sight  of  him 
thus,  quite  upset  the  poor  wife's  little  remaining  strength 
of  mind  and  body ;  and  Molly  was  glad  to  accept  Mrs. 
Hetherford's  offers  of  counsel  and  help.  The  stricken 
man  lingered  through  that  day  and  night,  and  in  the 
next  night  died.  Molly  never  left  his  side,  taking 
mechanically  such  food  as  Mrs.  Hetherford  brought  to 
her,  but  neither  sleeping  nor  resting  for  a  moment. 

In  the  last  few  hours  he  recovered  consciousness ; 
and  then  his  daughter,  kneeling  beside  him,  said,  — 

"Father  dear,  I  have  somewhat  to  tell  you.  Can 
you  listen  ?  Will  it  tire  you  too  much  ?  " 

"Nay,  child,  speak.  Unburden  thy  conscience 
while  there  is  yet  a  little  time,"  whispered  the  dying 
man ;  and  then  Molly,  in  briefest  phrases  and  with  no 
excuses,  told  the  story  she  should  have  told  upon  her 
wedding-day,  but  had  not,  partly  from  maiden  sr.yness, 
partly  from  shame  at  her  own  duplicity,  partly  that 
she  thought  it  would  be  another  burden  upon  her 
father's  inind.  Yet,  now  that  the  strange  illumination 
of  death  shone  upon  all  around  her,  keen  remorse  at 
having  even  by  silence  deceived  this  beloved  father 


240  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAtf. 

seemed  more  impossible  to  bear  than  even  the  grief  of 
his  departure. 

Wilder  listened,  his  dim  eyes  fixed  upon  her  own, 
until  the  faltering  voice  ceased  in  one  wild  sob,  and 
the  petition  laid  with  tears  and  kisses  upon  his 
hand :  — 

"  Oh,  forgive  me,  father  1  Forgive  me  before  you 
die ! " 

"  Nay,  child,  did  you  doubt  my  forgiveness,  that  you 
tarried  so  long  to  claim  it  ?  "  gently  chided  the  father. 
"  I  guessed  a  good  deal  of  this,  and  many  a  time  I 
*vould  have  spoken,  for  I  saw  how  it  fretted  thee  to 
deceive  thy  mother  and  me;  but,  shall  I  tell  thee, 
Molly,  although  I  would  never  have  chidden  thee,  I 
thought  perhaps  'twas  no  more  than  thou  didst  de- 
serve to  so  chide  thyself,  and  I  let  thee  go  on  for  a 
while.  And  then,  if  I  knew,  I  must  have  told  thy 
mother,  for,  Molly,  I  kept  no  secrets  from  her;  and 
she  might  not  have  been  so  tender  with  thee. 

"Yes,  child,  I  partly  knew.  I  saw  thee  carrying 
food  to  the  garret,  and  I  heard  of  the  hue  and  cry 
after  the  Frenchman ;  and  I  knew  if  one  were  here  I 
ought  to  give  him  up,  and  I  shut  my  eyes.  And  when 
that  doctor  came,  -I  knew  such  tow-hair  never  grew  on 
such  a  black-a -vised  face  as  his;  and  I  heard  two 
men's  voices  ir  the  night ;  and  that  last  night,  when 
on  stroke  of  n  \dnight  you  opened  your  door,  and 
looked  out  info  i>e  kitchen,  it  wakened  me,  and  after 
a  little  I  got  up  softly,  and  peeped  through  the  door, 
fearing  I  knew  not  what,  only  I  never  doubted  you, 
Molly,  never.  And  peeping  so,  like  that  Tom  thej 


THE  DARK  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN.      24! 

Jell  of,  I  saw  my  maid  making  herself  brave  in  a  white 
gown,  and  I  knew  it  meant  a  wedding,  and  I  knew 
not  what  to  do ;  but  still,  my  child,  I  trusted  thee  so 
wholly  that  I  kept  still,  and  sat  there  by  the  kitchen 
hearth,  my  face  in  my  two  hands,  till  I  heard  the 
front  door  open  and  shut,  and  I  said,  — 

" '  It  is  not  my  girl  that  has  so  left  my  house.  No  :  I 
will  trust  her,  I  will  trust  her  yet ;  for  if  she  is  false, 
then  u  is  time  for  me  to  die.'  And  I  waited  on,  and 
waited  on,  until  my  own  sweet  maid  opened  the  door, 
and  said,  — 

" '  There,  Tabby,  go  if  you  will,  and  see  you  tell  no 
one.' " 

"  Oh  !  I  remember  that  too,  father,  but  I  never  saw 
you." 

"  No :  your  eyes  were  too  blind  with  tears ;  but  I 
saw  you,  my  maid,  and  I  saw  the  heart-break  in  your 
face  for  days  after  that  as  you  looked  at  me,  and  looked 
at  me  ;  and  I  punished  you,  poor  lass,  by  never  giving 
you  the  chance  to  speak,  until  you  left  wanting  to. 

"  But  there,  all  is  past  now,  and  I  am  past.  And, 
child,  I  forgive  you  freely,  and  I  bless  you  and  wish 
you  well ;  and  for  your  sake  I  can  forgive  him  too, 
although  that  is  harder,  for  it  was  through  him  that 
my  girl  committed  the  only  fault  worth  mentioning  in 
all  her  life.  But  I  forgive  him  now,  Molly :  tell  him  I 
forgave  him,  and  you  too,  poor  child,  you  too.  Let 
us  speak  no  more  of  this.  Tell  me  how  thy  mother 
bears  this  blow." 

So  they  talked  the  night  away;  and  in  the  gray 
dawn  the  grand,  brave  heart  ceased  to  beat,  the  soul 


242  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

departed  as  calmly  and  trustfully  as  it  had  lived,  and 
Molly  Wilder  wept  her  bitter  tears  of  self-reproach  and 
loneliness  beside  her  father's  corpse. 

Self-reproach !  Ay,  there  is  the  bitterness  of  the 
grave,  there  is  the  sting  of  death,  not  for  ourselves, 
but  as  we  kneel  beside  the  quiet  face  that  will  turn  no 
more  toward  us,  even  upon  its  death-pillow ;  the  still, 
still  lips  that  answer  not,  though  our  plea  for  forgive- 
ness burst  our  own  heart  in  its  intensity;  the  eyes, 
whose  glance  was  our  light  of  life,  and  now  so  sol- 
emnly closed  for  us  and  all  the  world.  Oh !  be 
warned,  be  warned  in  time :  let  not  the  sun  go  down 
upon  your  wrath ;  speak  out  your  penitence  while  yet 
it  may  avail. 

After  this  night  came  a  time  in  Molly  Wilder's  life 
which  she  never  spoke  of  when  it  could  be  avoided, 
and  never  thought  of  without  a  shudder ;  for,  though 
the  gold  come  forth  from  the  furnace  seven  times 
refined  and  purified,  the  passage  is  none  the  less  terri- 
ble, and  the  dross  is  not  burned  away  without  fierce 
and  consuming  pain  to  the  pure  metal  that  remains. 

Deborah  Wilder  had,  after  her  own  wintry  fashion, 
loved  her  husband  very  dearly ;  and  his  loss,  added  to 
her  own  physical  condition,  completed  the  work  dis- 
ease had  begun.  She  took  to  her  bed,  and  to  weary 
alternations  of  a  little  worse  and  a  little  better,  but 
never  well  enough  to  be  less  than  a  constant  care  and 
fatigue  to  her  patient  nurse,  at  whom  she  fretted  and 
scolded  and  complained  incessantly.  Besides  this, 
came  the  work  of  the  house  and  such  farm  matters  as 
pertained  to  the  house ;  and  finally,  when  harvest-time 


THE  DARK  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN.      243 

was  at  its  height,  Amariah  came  one  night  to  his  young 
mistress  to  confess  that  he  was  no  longer  what  he  once 
was,  and  felt  that  the  work  of  the  farm,  especially  at 
this  season,  was  quite  beyond  either  his  ability  or  his 
strength,  and  was  already  ruinously  behindhand ;  con- 
cluding by  advising  her  to  accept  an  offer,  transmitted 
through  him  from  Reuben  Hetherford,  to  get  hi  the 
harvest,  and  finish  the  autumn  work  of  the  farm,  for 
half  the  crops. 

"  Half  the  crops,  merely  for  gathering  them  in  ! 
Does  the  man  take  me  for  a  fool  ?  "  blazed  out  Molly 
in  most  unwonted  wrath.  "  Tell  Master  Hetherford, 
with  my  compliments,  that  I  shall  be  in  far  sorer  need 
than  this,  before  I  make  such  a  bargain  as  that,  or  any 
bargain  indeed,  with  him." 

"But  how  shall  we  get  in  the  rye,  Molly?"  per- 
sisted Amariah  :  "  the  wheat  is  ruined  already  by  yes- 
terday's rain,  and  the  oats  are  dropping  every  day." 

"  Get  help  from  Falmouth.  Hire  a  man,  or  two 
men,  and  get  in  the  crops  just  as  father  used  to  show 
you  how." 

"  But  how  will  we  board  the  men,  and  you  worked 
to  death  already  ?  "  whined  the  poor  old  man. 

"  Not  to  death ;  for  I  can  do  yet  more,  and  not 
4uite  die,"  replied  his  mistress  bravely.  "Go  down 
to-night,  and  see  if  your  sister  Susan  will  come  and 
stay  with  me  until  Thanksgiving  time,  to  care  for 
mother  and  to  help  in  the  housework." 

So  two  men  and  a  woman  were  hired ;  and  when 
the  crops  were  gathered,  and  her  hirelings  dismissed, 
Molly  easily  reckoned  that  it  would  have  been  many 


244  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

dollars  cheaper  to  have  allowed  the  whole  harvest  to 
decay  as  it  stood,  and  oh,  so  great  a  saving  of  labor 
and  vexation  to  herself ! 

"  And  when  spring  comes,  who  is  to  do  the  plant- 
ing?" whispered  she  to  herself  in  dismay. 

Spring  came,  and  found  Amariah  so  disheartened  in 
spirit,  and  so  feeble  in  body,  that  Molly  willingly 
accepted  the  resignation  he  timidly  offered ;  and,  hav- 
ing steadfastly  looked  her  position  in  the  face,  con- 
cluded, that,  acting  as  her  mother's  agent,  she  had  no 
right  to  decline  the  offer  renewed  by  the  Hetherfords, 
this  time  in  the  mother's  name,  to  carry  on  the  farm 
for  the  ensuing  year  for  half  the  gross  profits.  Mrs. 
Wilder,  being  consulted,  gave  a  peevish  consent,  and 
from  that  day  out  worried  and  fretted  incessantly  at 
the  waste  and  ruin  she  foresaw ;  and  for  once  saw  truly, 
since  Hetherford  was  only  restrained  in  his  skinning 
system,  by  the  hope  of  ultimately  possessing  the  farm 
and  its  heiress,  whom  he  had  never  ceased  to  desire 
and  to  persecute. 

At  last  poor  Deborah  Wilder 's  weak  and  unsavory 
taper  went  out  altogether ;  and  she  not  so  much  died, 
as  ceased  to  complain  or  fret.  Molly  could  not  sor- 
row as  she  had  for  her  father ;  and  yet,  standing  be- 
side her  mother's  shrouded  form,  a  new  and  strange 
desolation  settled  down  upon  her  heart  with  an  ex- 
ceeding weight  and  bitterness,  as  she  remembered  that 
she  was  an  orphan,  without  one  relative,  so  far  as 
she  knew,  this  side  the  Atlantic,  and  none  upon  the 
other  whom  she  had  ever  seen  or  cared  for.  Home- 
less, too ;  since  Mrs.  Hetherford  had  already  explained 


THE  D.tRK  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN.      245 

to  her  the  impossibility  of  her  remaining  alone  in  the 
farmhouse,  and  invited  her  to  come  and  stay  with 
them ;  giving  the  other  half  the  crops  as  an  equivalent 
for  her  maintenance,  during  that  year  at  least. 

And  it  was  two  years  and  three  months  since  Fran- 
cois had  bid  her  good-by ;  and  in  all  that  time  she  had 
not  heard  one  word  from  him.  "  And  perhaps  will 
never  hear  !"  whispered  this  spirit  of  creeping  gloom, 
so  new,  so  dreadful,  a  visitant  in  the  girl's  bright  heart ; 
but  the  heart  was  yet  strong  enough  to  rebel  at  such 
domination,  and  cried  out  bravely,  "  Then  it  will  be 
because  he  is  dead.  If  he  lives,  he  will  come." 

"And  why  should  he  not  be  dead?  "  persisted  De- 
spair. "  Your  father,  so  strong  and  stalwart,  is  dead  ; 
your  mother  is  dead;  you  have  yourself  felt  as  if 
Death  stood  very  near,  and  beckoned  you  to  follow 
him.  Why  should  not  Francois  be  dead?  " 

"  Because  God  is  good,  and  loves  me,  and  I  trust  in 
him,"  moaned  the  child  aloud ;  and,  falling  on  her 
knees  at  the  side  of  the  quiet  figure  of  the  dead,  she 
tried  to  pray,  and  could  only  moan,  — 

"  Help  me,  O  my  Father  !  help  me,  or  I  perish." 

Then  came  the  funeral ;  and  when  it  was  over  they 
led  her  to  that  new  home,  which  to  her  never  could  be 
home ;  and  in  the  gloaming  she  stole  away,  and  went 
back  to  the  old  house,  and  up  to  the  priest's  chamber 
in  the  roof;  and  there,  beside  the  pallet  she  never  had 
removed,  she  at  last  was  able  to  weep  the  tears  that 
could  not  have  fallen  in  that  strange  and  dismal  new 
abode,  and  so  wept  away  the  load  that  all  day  long 
had  crushed  her  brain  and  heart. 


^6  A  WAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

Coming  down  stairs  after  a  while,  she  stood  in  the 
room  where  her  father  had  died,  and  where  she  her- 
self had  made  that  stolen  bridal  toilet;  and  as  that 
night  came  back  in  every  detail,  the  heavy  eye  bright- 
ened, and  a  tinge  of  color  crept  to  the  cheek  and  lips, 
and  a  long  breath  lifted  the  load  upon  her  lungs. 
Then,  still  following  in  her  memory  the  progress  of 
that  night,  she  went  and  unbolted  the  front  door,  and 
opened  it.  No  snowy  pathway  stretched  before  it  now, 
but  a  carpet  of  clover-turf;  and  the  great  white-rose 
bush  beside  the  step  nodded  its  stately  head  toward 
her  own,  and  a  cloud  of  incense  floated  from  each 
pure  chalice  upward  to  the  sky. 

A  horseman  rode  slowly  past  the  little  corn-barn,  in 
whose  shelter  Francois  had  found  his  last  refuge ;  but 
she  did  not  heed  him,  for  she  was  burying  her  tearful 
face  in  the  white  roses  that  she  held  in  both  hands, 
and  finding  strange  comfort  in  their  wordless  whisper- 
ings. The  traveller  looked  at  her,  however ;  and  then 
he  leaped  from  his  horse,  and  came  across  the  bit 
of  greensward,  and,  as  she  looked  toward  him  with 
startled  and  affrighted  eyes,  held  out  both  his  arms, 
and  said,  — 

"My  wife!    My  darling!" 

"O  Francois  \    You  have  come,  you  have  come ! " 


A  BRID4L  PROCESSION. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

A   BRIDAL   PROCESSION. 

TV  TRS.  HETHERFORD  and  her  son  sat  in  the  star- 
JLV  JL  light  upon  the  back  stoop  of  their  house ;  he 
with  his  hat  dragged  down  over  his  eyes,  his  elbows 
upon  his  knees,  chewing  a  bit  of  stick  in  a  manner  so 
vicious  as  to  suggest  he  would  willingly  have  so  de- 
stroyed some  enemy.  She,  slowly  rocking  back  and 
forth  in  a  wooden  chair,  which  creaked  at  each  vibra- 
tion with  a  peevish  and  weary  sound,  was  knitting  in 
the  dark,  and  eagerly  narrating  the  events  of  the  even- 
ing. A  few  rods  away  the  great  gray  sea  thundered 
upon  the  sands,  scorning  in  its  changeless  might  the 
restlessness  and  helplessness  of  the  men  who  call 
themselves  its  master. 

"  So  just  as  I  got  to  the  door,  with  the  horn  in  my 
hand  to  blow  for  supper,"  pursued  Mrs.  Hetherford, 
"  what  should  I  see  but  my  lady  Molly  marching  up  the 
path,  as  grand  as  you  please,  with  this  fine  gentleman 
beside  her,  good-looking  enough,  I'll  give  in,  but  phew  ! 
prouder  than  Lucifer  himself,  and  walking  as  straight 
and  smart  as  if  the  ground  wasn't  quite  good  enough 
tor  him  to  walk  on.  Up  they  come,  while  I  stood 
kind  o*  dumbfounded  with  the  horn  in  my  hand ;  and 
Molly  says,  says  she  "  — 


248  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

" '  Mrs.  Hetherford,  this  is  Dr.  LeBaron,  a  gentleman 
to  whom  I  have  been  troth-plight  for  some  time.  My 
father's  last  words  were  to  wish  that  he  soon  might 
come  to  claim  me,  and  here  he  is.  We  shall  be  mar- 
ried in  the  morning  at  Squire  Drew's,  and  go  directly 
to  Boston.'  Then  he  took  off  his  hat,  and  made  a 
bow  like  as  he  was  making  fun  of  me,  and  I  courtesied, 
like  a  fool,  just  as  I  would  to  a  lord  in  the  old  coun- 
try ;  and  then  I  recollected  where  we  are,  and  who 
Molly  is,  and  all,  and  I  said,  kind  of  patronizing,  — 

"'Well,  well,  you've  stole  a  march  on  us,  Molly. 
What  do  you  expect  Reuben  will  say?  But  come  in, 
both  of  you,  and  have  some  supper.'  But  upon  that 
my  lord  drew  himself  up  as  if  I'd  taken  a  liberty,  and 
bowed  again,  and  said  something  to  Molly,  and  walked 
off;  and  she  explained  how  he  was  going  to  sleep 
over  at  her  house,  and  she'd  found  enough  left  for  his 
supper  out  of  the  things  set  out  for  the  mourners  to- 
day. So  that's  all ;  and  I  must  say,  of  all  the  disgrace- 
ful"— 

-Shut  up,  mother,"  dutifully  interposed  her  son  at 
chis  word :  "  there's  nothing  disgraceful  that  I  see.  If 
Molly's  promised  to  the  man  with  her  father's  consent, 
and  now  is  going  to  marry  him,  who's  got  any  thing 
to  say?  As  for  the  rest,  if  he's  too  proud  or  too  fine 
to  come  inside  my  house,  all  the  better,  says  I :  let 
him  sleep  or  lie  awake  where  he  will,  so  long  as 
Molly's  safe  up-stairs  here.  Let  'em  marry  as  soon  as 
*hey  like;  but  this  is  what  I've  got  to  say,"  —  and, 
breaking  out  of  his  enforced  calm,  Reuben  sprang  to 
his  feet,  and,  lifting  hand  and  face  to  the  starry  sky, 


A  BRIDAL  PROCESSION.  249 

he  swore  a  black  and  bitter  oath  that  before  she  died 
Molly  Wilder  should  be  his  wife. 

"I,et  her  marry  this  man,"  repeated  he,  "let  her 
marry  six  men  if  she  will,  but  I  will  be  the  seventh, 
so  help  me  God  or  the  Devil,  I  care  not  which  "  — 

"  Hush,  hush,  Reuben  ! "  exclaimed  his  mother, 
rising  also  in  horror ;  but,  dashing  aside  the  hand  she 
would  have  laid  upon  his  arm,  he  strode  away  into  the 
night,  flinging  back  the  warning,  — 

"And  mind  you  don't  say  disgraceful  of  her  again, 
mother :  for  in  flinging  dirt  at  her  you  fling  it  at  me ; 
for,  so  sure  as  she  lives,  she  yet  shall  be  my  wife." 

"  Then,  God  help  her  ! "  muttered  the  mother,  out 
of  the  bitterness  of  a  wounded  mother's  heart ;  and, 
indeed,  she  had  much  to  bear  with  this  son,  whom 
during  his  infancy  she  had  ruined  by  indulgence,  and 
who  now  repaid  her  in  the  customary  fashion,  espe- 
cially during  the  last  two  or  three  years,  when  Molly's 
open  aversion  and  avoidance  had  doubly  imbittered 
his  temper.  Mercy,  too,  had  married,  and  removed 
to  some  distance,  leaving  the  widowed  mother  sole 
recipient  of  the  abuse  formerly  shared  between  the 
two ;  so  that,  altogether,  we  must  pity  Dame  Hether- 
ibrd  not  a  little,  as  she  sees  her  hope  of  a  sweet- 
tempered  and  helpful  companion  for  her  lonely  days 
snatched  away  as  soon  as  granted. 

Molly,  meantime,  sitting  at  her  window  above, 
vaguely  heard  the  murmur  .of  voices,  but  cared  not 
for  them.  She  was  listening  rather  to  that  solemn 
voice  of  the  sea,  voice  familiar  to  all  her  life  and  all 
its  needs,  and  telling  now  of  the  sad,  grave  life  of  the 


250  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

last  years  finished  and  put  away,  and  the  bright,  sweet 
day  dawning  with  to-morrow's  sun.  She  loved  him 
so,  and  she  trusted  him  so  !  Without  a  question, 
hardly  an  answer,  she  had  heard  his  plans,  including  a 
marriage  before  a  magistrate  to  obviate  the  necessity 
of  relating  the  first  marriage ;  and  her  words,  as  they 
left  the  old  house  forever,  were  the  keynote  of  her 
life,- 

"  I  trust  you,  Francois,  as  my  father  trusted  me." 

Early  the  next  morning  Dr.  LeBaron  rode  up  to 
the  door  of  the  Hetherford  mansion ;  and  Molly,  who 
had  risen  with  the  dawn,  came  down  to  meet  him, 
already  dressed  for  her  journey.  At  her  invitation  to 
enter,  he  simply  smiled  and  shook  his  head  ;  and  Molly 
went  to  seek  her  hostess,  whom  she  surprised  peeping 
at  the  stranger  from  behind  her  bedroom-curtains. 

"  I  am  going  now.  Won't  you  say  good-by,  aunty?" 
asked  the  girl,  clinging  to  the  one  poor  apology  that 
was  left  her  for  the  home-love  and  home-life  that  sud- 
denly loomed  so  largely  before  her  eyes.  Quite  to 
her  surprise,  Mrs.  Hetherford  turned,  and,  putting  her 
arms  about  her  neck,  said  with  a  hearty  kiss,  — 

"  No  :  I  won't  say  good-by ;  but  if  you're  bound  to 
be  married  this  morning,  I'll  go  along  too,  as  far  as 
Squire  Drew's,  and  show  that  if  your  own  mother  is 
dead,  there's  one  that  feels  like  a  mother  to  you,  and 
always  means  to,  wherever  you  go." 

"Will  you  really?  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,  dear 
aunty !  and  I  am  very  sorry  if  I  was  short  or  cross 
with  you  last  night ;  but  I  thought  you  would  never 
take  to  it  kindly,  and  "  — 


A   BRIDAL  PROCESSION.  2$l 

"And  you  were  bound  to  have  your  own  way 
whether  or  no,  just  as  you  always  did,"  interposed  the 
dame,  who  was  acting  partly  under  instructions,  partly 
trom  a  real,  although  very  gnarled  and  twisted,  affec- 
tion for  Molly. 

"  But  one  thing  is  sure,"  pursued  she,  when  the  two 
had  kissed  again,  and  each  had  wiped  her  eyes  :  "  you 
are  not  going  away  without  your  breakfast,  you  nor 
your  young  man  neither.  Reuben  was  away  at  day- 
light to  the  ma'shes  after  salt  hay ;  and  we  three  will 
have  a  cosey  little  meal,  and  then  I'll  have  old  Dolly 
saddled,  and  we  all  go  to  the  squire's  together." 

So  Molly,  clinging  still  to  this  phantasm  of  a  home 
and  a  mother,  went  out  and  tenderly  besought  her 
lover  to  yield  his  pride,  as  she  had  done  hers,  to  this 
old  woman's  pleasure  and  hospitable  wish,  and  come 
inside  the  house,  and  partake  of  the  morning  meal. 

Francois  listened,  patted  her  cheek,  smiled,  and  — 
yielded  ?  Oh,  no  !  but  calmly  said,  — 

"My  darling,  I  told  you  that  I  never  should  set 
foot  beneath  that  man's  roof,  nor  will  I ;  and  as  for 
eating  his  bread  —  pah,  it  would  choke  me  !  " 

"  But  his  mother  —  it  is  she  whom  I  wish  to  please ; 
and  I  have  no  mother,  Francois,  and  it  is  so  strange 
and  sad  for  a  girl  to  go  to  her  husband  with  never  a 
woman's  face  to  kiss  good-by  upon  ! " 

"  Well,  child,  let  her  come  with  us  if  she  will.  I  do 
not  say  nay  to  that ;  and  go  you  in,  and  eat  and  drink 
at  her  table,  and  play  at  mother  and  daughter  with  her 
if  you  can.  I  will  wait." 

"  No,  no,  Francois.     I  will  come  now." 


252  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN 

"Nay,  I  have  a  project.  When  I  went  to  saddle 
my  horse  this  morning,  I  found  a  silly  old  man  patting 
and  feeding  him,  who  presently  let  me  know  that  he 
was  Amariah,  of  whom  in  the  old  times  I  heard  so 
much ;  and  he,  it  seems,  had  already  scented  out  my 
presence,  and  tottered  over  here  from  his  home, 
wherever  it  may  be,  to  look  after  us;  and,  among 
other  confidences,  he  intrusted  me  with  his  .intention 
of  making  a  fire  in  the  dear  old  kitchen  where  I  first 
saw  you,  and  preparing  himself  some  breakfast.  He 
spoke  of  plenty  of  fresh  eggs  in  the  barn  with  a 
chuckle  of  satisfaction,  arising,  probably,  from  the 
memory  of  many  a  stolen  feast  upon  them;  and  I 
remembered  your  innocent  surprise  one  day  when  no 
eggs  were  forthcoming  for  your  invalid's  breakfast. 
Well,  with  plenty  of  fresh  eggs  and  some  other  matters 
which  Amariah  will  forage  for,  I  shall  construct  an 
omelet  which  will  make  the  few  remaining  hairs  upon 
that  old  man's  head  stand  erect  with  wonder  and  awe. 
You  remember  my  telling  you  how  to  make  an  ome- 
let?" 

"  Yes,  and  my  notable  failure.  But  I  will  try  again 
if  you  will  teach  me." 

"And,  that  I  may  be  a  worthy  teacher  to  so  fair  a 
pupil,  I  will  go  immediately,  and  perfect  myself  in  the 
operation."  And,  doffing  his  hat,  Francois  leaped 
upon  his  horse,  and  rode  away,  leaving  Molly  half 
vexed,  half  gratified,  and  saying  to  herself  as  she  re- 
entered  the  house,  — 

"Always  so  gentle  and  so  courteous,  but  always 
having  just  his  own  way,  and  never  mine  1 " 


A   BRIDAL  PROCESSION.  2$$ 

An  hour  or  two  later  a  little  cavalcade  set  forth 
from  Dame  Hetherford's  door,  consisting  of  that  worthy 
woman  herself,  decked  in  an  antiquated  robe  of  green 
silk,  with  a  structure  upon  her  head  called  a  caleche 
from  its  resemblance  to  the  hood  of  the  vehicle  of  that 
name ;  after  her  the  lovers,  he  riding  firm  and  square 
upon  the  big  black  horse  which  had  brought  him  from 
Boston,  and  she  upon  a  pillion,  bashfully  supporting 
herself  by  an  arm  around  his  waist.  Finally  came 
Amariah,  bestriding  a  blind  and  halt  old  steed  which 
he  had  borrowed  for  the  expedition,  and  urged  along 
by  incessant  thumps  and  whacks. 

"  My  love,"  said  Francois,  lifting  her  from  the  pil- 
lion at  the  squire's  gate,  "  I  trust  that  you  rest  content. 
You  have  not  gone  to  your  nuptials  without  a  bridal 
procession." 

"We  only  needed  Tabitha  to  make  it  perfect," 
replied  Molly  with  a  little  laugh  half  a  sob.  "  Dear 
old  Tabby !  she  saw  the  real  marriage,  and  ought  to 
have  lived  for  this;  but  I  am  going  to  have  hex 
daughter  sent  after  me  as  soon  as  we  have  a  home." 


254  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  VALUE  OF  A  DOCTOR. 

AND  how  is  my  good  friend  and  patient,  Mistress 
Tilley?"  asked  Dr.  LeBaron,  as  he  drew  rein 
before  the  Bunch  of  Grapes,  and  saw  the  landlord 
joyfully  come  forward  to  meet  him. 

"  Marvellously  better,  doctor,  marvellously  !  "  replied 
the  publican,  beaming  all  over  with  delight,  "  and 
wearying  for  a  sight  of  you.  Why,  sir,  I  have  a  wil] 
to  be  jealous  in  hearing  nought  but  your  name  upon 
her  lips  from  morn  till  night,  and  when  will  he  be 
back,  and  how  many  days  are  gone  so  far,  and  praises 
of  your  looks,  your  voice,  your  ways  "  — r- 

"  Spare  me,  good  friend,  spare  my  blushes,"  laughed 
the  doctor,  springing  to  the  ground,  and  helping  his 
companion  to  alight.  "  And  if  you  will  give  my  wife 
and  me  room  in  your  pleasant  house  we  will  abide  to- 
night with  you,  and  I  shall  see  good  Mistress  Tilley 
two  or  three  times  at  least." 

"Your  wife,  sir!  Aha!  The  gossips  will  be  at 
rest  now,  for  they  could  not  make  it  out  why  you 
were  travelling  down  the  Cape  only  to  come  back 
again  in  a  week  or  ten  days,  as  you  said ;  but  it  is  all 
the  better,  all  the  better." 

"All  the  better  for  me,  no  doubjt     but  for  whom 


THE    VALUE   OF  A   DOCTOR.  255 

else?"  asked  the  doctor  in  some  surprise,  as  he  led 
his  wife  on  through  the  low-browed  hall  into  the 
parlor,  so  cool  and  shady  in  the  summer  noon,  with 
its  sanded  floor,  and  dark  old  furniture,  the  asparagus- 
boughs  hanging  from  the  great  beam  running  through 
the  middle  of  the  ceiling,  the  nosegay  of  roses  in  a 
bow-pot  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  floating  muslin 
curtains  across  the  windows. 

"  Who  beside  myself  is  all  the  better  for  my  mar- 
riage, good  mine  host?  "  asked  the  doctor  again,  as  the 
landlord,  smiling  and  bowing,  would  have  here  left  his 
guests. 

"  Why,  sir  —  but  I  may  not  tell :  it  is  yet  a  secret, 
but  soon  to  be  known  to  your  worship,  that  is,  when  " 
—  and  stammering  and  bowing  and  tumbling  over 
his  own  toes,  John  Tilley  contrived  to  get  himself  out 
of  the  room,  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"  It  is  some  present,  or  perhaps  a  feast,  planned  foi 
my  return,  and  wherein  my  wife  now  shall  share,"  said 
the  doctor,  as  he  helped  Molly  to  undo  and  lay  aside 
her  riding  spencer  and  hat,  and  then  deftly  and  gravely 
arranged  her  bright  brown  hair,  a  little  dishevelled  by 
the  wind. 

"  I  wonder  how  my  darling's  face  would  look  under 
the  towering  head-dresses  worn  by  the  fashionable 
dames  abroad  just  now,"  said  he,  taking  the  round 
chin  in  his  hand,  and  seriously  regarding  his  wife's 
fair  face.  But  she  somewhat  sharply  withdrew  a  step, 
and  coloring  vividly  said,  — 

"  Content  yourself  in  the  beginning,  Francois,  with 
the  simple  country  girl  whom  you  have  wed.  She 
urill  never  be  a  fashionable  dame,  or  look  like  one." 


256  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"So  jealous  lest  I  should  regret  mine  own  act, 
little  one,  and  so  sharp  in  reproving  the  fault  that  was 
not,  except  in  your  own  fancy ! "  said  her  husband 
gently.  "  My  Mary  is  not  one  of  the  women  of 
fashion  whom  I  detest;  but  she  surely  is  the  sweet 
and  gentle  and  docile  wife  whom  I  have  loved  so 
longingly,  and  sought  so  carefully,  is  she  not?" 

"  You  are  gentler  born  than  I,  Francois,  and  must 
teach  me  to  amend  my  rude  ways  and  blunt  speech," 
replied  Molly  with  proud  humility,  and  her  eyes 
filling  with  tears. 

"I  can  teach  thee  nought  half  so  important  as 
nature  has  taught  thee  already,"  whispered  her  hus- 
band, kissing  away  the  tears,  much  to  the  delight  of 
Margery  Sampson,  the  landlady's  sister,  who,  standing 
with  the  door  in  her  hand,  announced  smilingly,  — 

"  Mistress  LeBaron's  bedroom  is  ready,  if  she  cares 
to  go  to  it." 

"  Ha,  pretty  Margery  !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor,  turn- 
ing around  without  the  least  embarrassment,  while  Mol- 
ly's tears  were  dried  by  fiery  blushes,  "  and  how  goes 
the  world  with  thee,  child?  And  is  the  dame  ready 
to  see  me  yet?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir !  and  more  than  ready ;  and  she  bid 
me  ask  if  you  could  look  in  upon  her  now  for  a 
moment." 

"  Indeed  I  will,  Margery,  if  you  will  take  my  wife  to 
her  own  room.  Your  sister  is  where  I  left  her,  I 
suppose." 

"Yes,  sir :  you  know  the  way.     Come,  madam." 

The  delight  of  a  woman  in  the  society  of  her  favor- 


THE    VALUE  OF  A   DOCTOR.  2$/ 

ite  physician  is  one  of  those  amiable  weaknesses  of 
the  sex  at  which  men  may  marvel  and  sneer,  but 
which  they  never  need  hope  to  eradicate,  since  it 
springs  from  two  very  feminine  traits,  —  the  love  of 
talking  about  one's  self,  and  the  delight  of  relying 
upon  masculine  strength  and  skill  in  directions  where 
the  domestic  authorities  are  obliged  to  confess  incom- 
petency  or  feign  superiority.  The  father,  husband,  or 
'brother  sets  down  that  peculiar  feeling  at  the  nape  of 
the  neck,  that  odd  buzzing  in  the  ears,  or  that  tend- 
ency to  tears  and  pettishness  in  the  early  morning, 
to  imagination,  nerves,  or  some  other  "  glittering  gen- 
erality "  of  contempt ;  but  Dr.  So-and-so  listens  gravely 
to  all  the  symptoms,  asks  questions,  recalls  former 
interviews,  pays  a  little  compliment,  assures  the  inva- 
lid that  she  is  too  delicately  constituted  to  bear  any 
rough  or  careless  treatment ;  and  finally  shakes  twelve 
little  powders  into  twelve  little  papers,  numbers  them 
carefully,  —  for  mind  of  man  refuses  to  contemplate 
the  mischief  ensuing  from  the  irregular  consumption 
of  those  powders, — and  retires  leaving  his  patient 
soothed,  cheered,  and  already  far  upon  the  road  to 
recovery.  She  has  her  three  dollars'  worth,  and  the 
unsympathetic  monster  who  has  to  pay  it  is  justly 
mulcted  for  his  unfeeling  conduct. 

So  Dame  Betty  Tilley  passed  a  charming  half-hour 
with  her  doctor,  as  she  already  styled  LeBaron ;  and 
then  he  was  called  to  tea,  and  still  lingered  over  that 
pleasant  meal  when  Goodman  Tilley,  appearing  at  the 
door,  solemnly  announced, — 

"Master  Bradford,  Master  Rowland,  and  Master 


258  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

Southworth,  selectmen  of  the  town  of  Plymouth,  re- 
quest the  pleasure  of  Dr.  LeBaron's  presence  in  the 
parlor  of  this  inn." 

"  Request  the  pleasure  of  my  company  !  "  exclaimed 
LeBaron,  starting  to  his  feet,  and  carrying  his  hand  to 
his  belt,  as  if  seeking  a  weapon.  "  And  for  what  ?  The 
war  is  over,  peace  is  declared  ! " 

"And  it  is  an  errand  of  peace  that  brings  them 
here,  as  you  shall  see,"  replied  Tilley,  still  in  the  sol- 
emn and  impressive  manner  of  a  herald  negotiating 
between  high  and  mighty  powers.  The  doctor  glanced 
at  him,  then  at  Molly,  who  had  turned  very  white ;  and 
then,  tossing  his  head  in  the  careless  and  haughty 
fashion  habitual  with  him,  he  strode  out  of  the  room, 
and  across  the  passage  to  the  twilight-parlor  where  his 
guests  awaited  him. 

They  rose  to  meet  him,  and  stood  steadfastly  re- 
garding him  for  a  moment  without  speaking, — three 
grave,  responsible,  thoughtful-looking  men,  worthy 
successors  of  the  fathers  whose  names  they  bore,  and 
the  mantle  of  whose  dignity  still  covered  their  de- 
scendants. Bradford  was  the  first  to  speak ;  and  after 
mentioning  his  own  name,  and  those  of  his  associate? 
he  said,  — 

"You  are  called  Dr.  Francis  LeBaron,  sir?" 

"Yes,  Master  Bradford." 

"And  are  a  surgeon  of  the  French  army?" 

"  Again,  yes,  gentlemen ;  although  at  a  loss  to  un- 
derstand the  reason  "  — 

"1  crave  your  pardon,  sir;  but  before  speaking  will 
you  listen  to  the  message  we,  the  selectmen  of  the 


THE    VALUE   OF  A  DOCTOR.  259 

town  of  Plymouth,  have  been  charged  to  convey  to 
you,  and  in  that  message  you  will  find  the  motive  of 
what  seems  to  you  impertinent  meddling." 

"By  no  means,  Master  Bradford,  and  gentlemen. 
I  am  but  astonished  that  so  humble  and  individual  as 
myself  should  have  excited  any  attention  at  all  in  this 
respectable  town,  or  that  its  selectmen  should  trouble 
themselves  to  inquire  aught  concerning  me." 

"  They  probably  would  not,  sir,  except  ."or  a  need  in 
the  town  which  you  possibly  may  supply,"  returned 
Bradford  with  a  cool  composure,  equalling,  at  least, 
the  slightly  arrogant  tone  of  the  baron,  whose  steely 
eyes  flashed  suddenly  upon  the  speaker,  as  he  moved 
a  chair  towards  him,  and  courteously  said,  — 

"Will  you  seat  yourselves,  gentlemen?  I  am  most 
happy  if  in  any  manner  I  can  oblige  you,  or  the  town, 
more  than  by  removing  myself  from  it." 

"That  remains  to  be  proven,  Dr.  LeBaron.  We 
have  all  known,  and  in  a  manner  witnessed,  through 
the  eyes  of  Phineas  Hallowell,  your  skill  and  good 
judgment  in  the  matter  of  Dame  Elizabeth  Tilley's 
leg ;  and  he  says  that  you  showed  him  sundry  papers 
proving  your  claim  to  the  rank  of  physician  and  sur- 
geon accredited  by  the  European  schools,  and  ranked 
as  such  in  the  French  army." 

"  Excuse  my  interruption,  messieurs  the  selectmen ; 
but  I  would  be  distinctly  understood  as  not  having 
shown  ray  diploma,  certificates,  and  commission  to  the 
good  cow-doctor  in  proof  of  my  claims,  as  you  phrase 
it ;  for  I  make  no  claims,  or  give  any  man  the  right  to 
question  my  statements.  I  come  here  a  traveller,  and 


26O  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

a  stranger ;  I  find  a  woman  about  to  be  mutilated  by 
—  well,  by  unwise  practitioners;  I  interfere  in  the  in- 
terests of  humanity  and  science,  and  cure  her.  After- 
ward, in  discussing  foreign  colleges,  and  modes  of 
education,  with  Master  Hallowell,  I  show  him  certain 
documents  as  matters  of  interest  to  a  man  having 
some  slight  acquaintance  with  physic.  That  is  all; 
and,  if  there  is  some  one  else  sick  in  the  town,  I  shall 
be  happy  to  render  my  services  again  in  the  same  fash- 
ion, but  must  decline  to  submit  to  a  previous  cross- 
examination  at  any  hands." 

John  Bradford  allowed  a  decorous  moment  of  si- 
lence to  intervene,  and  then  replied,  his  cool  and 
measured  tones  following  the  rapid  and  somewhat 
heated  utterance  of  the  Frenchman,  as  the  chill  north 
wind  sweeps  in  to  fill  the  vacuum  left  by  the  burning 
air  exhaled  from  the  face  of  the  desert,  — 

"  It  is  ever  unwise,  young  man,  to  resent  an  injury 
not  offered,  or  to  reply  to  a  question  not  yet  asked. 
If  you  will  hear  me  out,  my  errand  is  briefly  this  :  — 

"  We  have  here  in  Plymouth  no  educated  and  com- 
petent physician,  and  we  wish  for  one.  Your  skill  has 
already  been  proven;  and  your  education  and  rank 
may  be  proven  by  the  exhibition  of  the  papers  shown 
by  you,  from  whatever  motive,  to  Phineas  Hallowell. 
This  being  settled,  we  are  empowered  by  the  town  to 
invite  you  to  remain  among  us  as  our  surgeon,  physi- 
cian, and  apothecary.  The  town  offers  you  a  tract  of 
twenty-five  acres  of  land  wherever  outside  the  village 
you  may  select  it,  and  a  house-lot  on  the  main  street, 
with  assistance,  if  you  need  it,  in  building  a  house 


THE    VALUE  OF  A  DOCTOR.  26 1 

thereon :  you  will  have  such  fees  as  are  usual  among 
us,  some  of  them  paid  in  money,  but  more  in  produce ; 
and  you  will  receive  a  cash  salary  of  ten  pounds,  by 
the  year,  for  attention  and  physic  for  the  town's 
poor." 

"  And  that  is  quite  as  much  as,  if  not  more  than,  we 
do  for  our  minister,"  said  Constant  Southworth,  break- 
ing silence  for  the  first  time ;  while  John  Rowland 
stirred  uneasily  in  his  chair,  and  cleared  his  throat  as 
if  to  audibly  indorse  his  companions'  statements,  but, 
thinking  better  of  such  waste  of  words,  relapsed  into 
his  usual  golden  silence. 

Dr.  LeBaron  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  those 
gray  and  impassible  faces,  and  felt  a  certain  respect 
and  deference  arising  in  his  mind,  such  as  the  pres- 
ence of  kings  and  emperors  had  not  always  evoked  in 
it.  He  bowed  courteously  to  all  three  in  succession, 
and  answered  in  the  same  tone,  — 

"  First  and  always,  messieurs,  I  have  to  thank  you 
for  the  confidence  in  my  poor  skill,  and  also  in  my 
moral  and  social  standing,  implied  in  this  invitation, 
which  is  so  unexpected  that  I  must  beg  a  little  time 
to  consider  of  it,  and  to  consult  my  wife,  who  accom- 
panies me,  and  must  have  her  voice  in  the  choice  of 
a  residence  for  life.  I  had  intended  to  settle  in  Bos- 
ton, but  have  made  no  binding  arrangements  there, 
and  —  shall  I  see  you  again  in  the  morning,  gentle- 
men?" 

The  selectmen  looked  at  each  other,  silently  rose 
and  stood,  their  rock-like  faces  turned  upon  LeBaron 


262  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAtf. 

as  he  first  had  seen  them,  while  John  Bradford  quietly 
replied,  — 

"  We  shall  be  here  at  eight  o'clock  of  the  morning, 
and  trust  to  find  you  ready  to  accede  to  our  offer." 


A    TREATY  OFFENSIVE  AND  DEFENSIVE.  263 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  TREATY  OFFENSIVE  AND  DEFENSIVE. 

PUNCTUALLY  as  the  clock  struck  eight  the  next 
JT  morning,  the  three  selectmen  entered  the  parlor 
of  the  Bunch  of  Grapes ;  and  before  the  sound  of 
their  footsteps  in  the  passage  died  away,  Dr.  LeBaron 
followed  them,  looking  very  handsome,  and  a  little 
supercilious,  in  the  bright  June  morning,  for  he  carried 
a  roll  of  papers  in  his  hand,  and  felt  that  he  presented 
himself  on  approval.  The  selectmen  gravely  saluted 
him,  and  waited  in  silence  for  a  reply  to  the  questions 
already  sufficiently  stated.  The  baron  unrolled  his 
papers  upon  the  table,  and  said,  — 

"  Will  you  take  the  trouble  to  glance  at  these,  gen- 
tlemen ?  Here  is  my  diploma  from  the  University  at 
Bologna,  this  from  the  Medical  School  at  Vienna,  this 
Certificate  of  ability  from  the  Physicians'  College,  Lon- 
don, and  this  is  my  commission  as  surgeon  in  the 
French  navy." 

In  perfect  silence  the  worthy  selectmen  placed  their 
cectacles  upon  their  noses,  carefully  read  each  docu- 
ment from  end  to  end,  with  the  exception  of  the 
commission,  which,  being  expressed  in  French,  was 
only  intelligible  to  Bradford,  while  the  crabbed  Latin 
of  the  others  was  familiar  enough  to  all. 


264  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

The  inspection  finished,  Bradford  took  off  and 
folded  his  spectacles,  and  having  looked  earnestly  at 
his  colleagues,  who  gravely  replied  by  answering  looks, 
he  said, — 

"These  papers  are  perfectly  satisfactory,  Dr.  Le- 
Baron,  in  all  points  save  one.  They  are  made  out 
simply  in  the  name  of  Franciscus,  except  the  com- 
mission, where  the  title  is  le  docteur  Francois.  Youi 
name,  I  understand,  is  LeBaron." 

"  Worthy  Master  Bradford  and  gentlemen,"  replied 
the  doctor,  "we  have  arrived  at  a  point  foreseen  by 
me  since  I  first  understood  your  errand,  and  one  past 
which  we  may  possibly  never  go,  however  much  I  may 
regret  losing  your  friendship  and  countenance.  I  am, 
as  you  perceive,  a  man  of  no  nationality,  educated  in 
Italy,  in  Germany,  in  England,  in  the  school  of  the 
world,  —  in  one  word  a  cosmopolitan.  I  have  no  name 
except  that  of  Francis,  Latinized  by  one  set  of  my 
acquaintance,  Gallicized  by  another,  Anglicized  by  the 
third.  To  this  name  I  add  for  convenience'  sake  that 
of  LeBaron,  which  may  or  may  not  belong  more  than 
another  to  me.  Here  you  have  all  of  my  history  that 
you  will  ever  possess ;  and  from  this  day  forth  I  shall 
answer  no  man's  questions,  even  as  patiently  as  I  have 
yours.  If,  under  these  conditions,  you  care  to  have 
me  settle  among  you,  and  act  as  the  physician  of  your 
bodies,  I  am  ready  to  accept  the  offer  made  me  last 
night." 

"  One  question  more,  Dr.  LeBaron,  before  we  close 
the  contract,"  replied  Bradford,  after  a  brief  consulta- 
tion with  his  associates  :  "  what  is  your  religious  be- 
lief?" 


A    TREATY  OFFENSIVE  AND  DEFENSIVE.   26$ 

"  That  from  which  your  fathers  fled.  I  am  a  Roman 
Catholic,"  replied  LeBaron  briefly  and  sternly. 

A  slight  movement  of  undisguised  horror  told  the 
feeling  with  which  this  announcement  was  received, 
and  again  the  three  consulted  in  whispers ;  while  the 
baron,  with  an  angry  flush  upon  his  high  Norman 
cheek-bones,  rolled  up  his  papers  and  put  them  in  his 
pocket.  Presently  Bradford  turned  toward  him,  and 
in  his  grave  yet  benevolent  voice  said,  — 

"You  have  rightly  said  that  our  fathers  fled  to  this 
bleak  and  arid  soil  to  escape  the  corruptions  and  tyr- 
anny of  the  Roman  Church ;  and  we,  their  descend- 
ants, hate  and  dread  it  as  we  should.  Nevertheless, 
even  as  in  your  own  art  it  is  sometimes  permitted  to 
employ  deadly  and  loathsome  poisons  for  the  healing 
of  disease,  and  the  skilful  physician  can  turn  even  the 
tongue  of  the  adder  and  the  venom  of  the  toad  to 
more  advantage  than  an  unlearned  man  can  the  pure 
and  pleasant  remedies  of  nature ;  so  it  is  permitted 
to  us  to  use  your  skill,  regardless  of  your  religion, — 
that  is,  if  you  will  accede  to  certain  conditions." 

"As  what,  gentlemen?" 

"  That  the  silence  you  propose,  with  unnecessary 
asperity,  to  maintain  in  regard  to  all  your  worldly 
affairs,  shall  extend  to  those  spiritual  as  well.  That 
you  shall  never  mention  to  any  person  beyond  us 
three,  your  religious  beliefs  or  opinions,  or  in  any 
manner  inculcate  or  teach  them,  even  in  your  own 
household.  The  matter  will  be  a  secret  confined  to 
ourselves,  and  hence  no  scandal  shall  arise.  We  must 
also  stipulate  that  you  shall,  as  often  as  convenient, 


266  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

attend  divine  service  in  the  meeting-house  on  Sunday, 
and  instruct  your  family  so  to  do.  And  in  concluding, 
I  pray  you,  sir,  not  to  resent  this  plain  speaking,  or 
this  somewhat  rigid  stipulating  upon  our  part,  since  we 
act,  as  it  were,  in  the  place  of  fathers  of  the  family 
among  whom  we  invite  you  to  dwell.  And  while  we 
are  amply  willing  to  intrust  the  bodies  of  our  children 
to  your  skill  and  judgment,  we  would  anxiously  insure 
against  peril  to  the  souls  which  are  so  much  more  to 
be  valued;  even  as  men,  while  lighting  a  fire  in 
times  of  pestilence  to  purify  the  air,  hedge  it  about 
with  jealous  care  lest  it  consume  their  homes." 

"  In  truth,  Master  Bradford,  you  are  a  plain  speaker, 
and  I  know  not  whether  of  two  courses  to  pursue  :  to 
wish  you  all  a  very  good  morning,  call  for  my  horse, 
and  ride  away,  relieving  this  good  town  of  its  present 
dangerous  association  with  a  noisome  and  loathsome 
poison,  tongue  of  adder,  venom  of  toad,  and  destroy- 
ing fire,  all  which  similes  you  have  used  in  describing 
me,  —  or  to  give  you  my  hand,  call  you  the  only  hon- 
est man  I  ever  saw,  and  accept  your  offer  on  your 
own  conditions." 

"  The  latter  is  the  wiser  and  more  Christian  course, 
doctor,"  said  Bradford  smiling  grimly. 

"Say  you  so?  Then  I  adopt  it,"  exclaimed  Le- 
Baron  frankly,  and  courteously  suiting  the  action  to 
the  word.  "But  allow  me  to  tell  you,  friend,  that 
your  medical  education  is  far  behind  the  light  of  mod- 
ern science.  We  no  longer  use  powdered  adders  or 
steeped  toads  for  medicine ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  much 
doubted  whether  the  toad  possesses  either  the  venom 
or  the  jewel  attributed  to  him  by  the  ancients." 


A    TREATY  OFFENSIVE  AND  DEFENSIVE.   267 

u  Indeed?  Well,  doctor,  we  shall  be  ready  to  learn 
of  you  in  all  matters  physical ;  and  by  God's  grace 
you  may  learn  of  us  some  of  those  great  and  awful 
spiritual  truths  which  startled  our  fathers  from  their 
sleep  beneath  the  claws  of  the  great  and  terrible 
dragon  of  Popery." 

"  Hold,  good  Master  Bradford  !  I  have  in  turn  one 
condition  to  impose  before  the  bargain  is  sealed.'* 

"And  what  is  that?"  asked  Bradford  anxiously. 

"  That  no  one  shall  seek  to  corrupt  me  to  Protest- 
antism. Let  the  silence  on  the  subject  of  religion  be 
mutual." 

"Friend,  I  stand  reproved,"  replied  Bradford  hum- 
bly ;  and  so  went  his  way,  followed  by  his  colleagues. 


268  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

THE  ROSE-GARDEN  OF  PROVENCE. 

AGAIN  at  Montarnaud,  again  in  the  summer  gar- 
den where  the  flowers  bloom  as  freshly  and  as 
gayly  as  they  did  twelve  years  ago;  where  still  the 
fountains  tinkle,  and  the  birds  sing,  and  the  sweet 
winds  come  and  go  with  kisses  on  their  breath.  The 
chateau  is  even  more  imposing  than  of  old ;  for  the 
revenues  of  Rochenbois  have  come  to  fill  the  empty 
coffers  of  Montarnaud,  and  the  old  house  has  been  re- 
stored, amplified,  and  embellished,  until  it  hardly  knows 
itself.  Time  the  Destroyer  has  given  way  to  Timef 
the  Perfecter  everywhere ;  and  not  a  change  is  to  bej 
seen  that  is  not  an  improvement.  But  stay  :  what  shall 
we  say  of  the  lady  reclining  in  this  garden-chair  be- 
neath the  shade  of  the  fragrant  oleanders,  one  of  whose 
petals  has  fallen  so  charmingly  upon  her  dusky  hair  ? 
What  have  twelve  years  done  for  her  whom  we  left  a 
girl  of  sixteen  in  all  the  glory  of  her  morning  loveli- 
ness? The  cheek  could  hardly  be  more  colorless  than 
it  was  then ;  but  one  seems  to  feel  that  the  blood  no 
longer  pulses  so  rapidly  beneath  its  creamy  surface, 
and  the  merry  mouth  has  learned  to  fold  itself  more 
immovably,  perhaps  more  scornfully;  the  wealth  of 
lustrous  hair  is  coiffed  more  artificially  than  in  the  old 


THE  ROSE-GARDEN  OF  PROVENCE.      269 

time ;  and  the  large  dark  eyes  move  more  languidly, 
and  hardly  care  to  raise  their  slumberous  lids  at  every 
call.  The  toilet  is  no  longer  that  of  a  careless  girl, 
but  perfect  in  its  taste,  art,  and  befitting  richness.  In 
fact,  we  have  here  the  handsome  and  elegant  dame  du 
grande  monde ;  and  the  Valerie  who  perched  in  the 
branches  of  the  oak,  and  teased  her  nurse  and  gover- 
ness, is  gone  forever.  And  yet  one  must  change  his 
half-breathed  sigh  of  regret  at  this  loss  into  one  of 
astonishment  and  delight,  as  he  catches  sight  of  a  little 
fairy  form  chasing  butterflies  among  the  roses  ;  a  little 
atom  of  life  and  light  and  motion,  looking,  with  her 
floating  gold-bronze  curls,  her  glowing  cheeks,  and 
parted  lips,  her  dancing  eyes,  and  swift  aerial  motions, 
more  like  the  creation  of  some  wonderful  magician,  a 
fairy  caught  and  clothed  with  some  elemental  and 
unsubstantial  body,  than  a  child  of  ordinary  earth. 
And  this  is  the  little  Therese,  heiress  of  Montarnaud 
and  Rochenbois,  only  child  surviving  of  Valerie's  love- 
less and  disastrous  marriage.  Up  and  down  the  gar- 
den paths  skims  the  child,  swift  as  a  swallow,  uncer- 
tain as  the  butterflies  she  chases  :  and  after  her  toils  a 
young  woman,  her  comely  face  warm  with  wrath  and 
sunshine,  for  she  wishes  of  all  things  to  seat  herself  in 
some  cool  and  shaded  nook  to  spell  out  a  note  just 
handed  her  by  one  of  the  servants,  in  the  handwriting 
of  her  dearly-loved  brother,  whom  as  yet  she  has 
seen  but  once  since  his  return  from  foreign  travel, 
and  who  is  to  visit  her,  with  the  consent  of  Madame 
la  Comtesse,  this  very  day ;  but,  in  chasing  this  restless 
little  sprite  up  and  down,  she  cannot  even  find  time  to 
read  what  may  be  the  announcement  of  his  arrival. 


2/0  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

A  figure  in  clerical  costume  appears  at  the  head  of 
the  steps  leading  from  the  terrace  down  to  the  garden ,' 
and  Madame  Clotilde^  as  she  is  called,  utters  a  joyous 
exclamation,  — 

"  It  is  he,  my  dear  brother,  mademoiselle  ! " 

"Can  he  catch  butterflies?  "  asks  the  little  lady,  and 
then  adds  in  a  tone  of  disgust,  "  Why,  he's  a  priest 
too  !  I  wish  somebody  but  priests  would  come  here. 
I  like  soldiers  better :  I  wish  mamma  did." 

Madame  Clotilde  approaches  her  mistress,  and 
joyously  announces,  — 

"  My  brother,  madame.  May  I  leave  mademoiselle 
with  her  nurse,  and  take  him  into  the  house  ?  " 

"No:  fetch  him  here,  and  take  The"rese  to  the 
other  end  of  the  garden,"  languidly  replies  the  count- 
ess. "The  heat  and  her  voice  have  given  me  a 
headache,  and  perhaps  Pere  Vincent's  conversation 
may  amuse  me  for  a  while." 

So  Clotilde,  with  a  decided  pout  and  frown  upon 
her  pretty  face,  goes  to  meet  her  brother,  and  delivers 
the  lady's  mandate,  adding  a  few  words  of  muttered 
complaint  on  her  own  part,  at  which  he  gently  smiles, 
murmuring,  — 

"  By  and  by,  my  child,  by  and  by." 

Then  he  approaches  madame,  who  does  not  disturb 
herself  except  to  smile  graciously,  and  wave  her  hand 
toward  a  chair  close  beside  her  couch.  The  abbe" 
bows  profoundly,  seats  himself,  and  studies  his  com- 
panion with  sidelong  imperceptible  glances. 

"It  is  a  long  time  since  we  met,  monsieur  Tabbe"," 
says  Valerie  in  a  tone  of  courteous  indifference. 


THE  ROSE-GARDEN  OF  PROVENCE.      2/1 

"  And  yet  nothing  is  changed  except  for  the  bettel 
here  at  Montamaud,  madame." 

*  "That  is  as  one  thinks.  Twelve  years  leave  theit^ 
•mark  wherever  they  pass."  And  a  gloomy  shadow 
crosses  the  countess's  beautiful  face,  as  if  those  twelve 
years  suddenly  stood  between  her  and  the  sun.  But, 
rallying  immediately,  she  inquires  absently,  — 

"And  where  have  you  been  all  these  years,  mon- 
sieur?" 

"  In  many  places,  madame.     I  have  visited  nearly 
all  the  countries  of  the  world." 

"  Indeed !     You  must    have    seen    many  curious 
things.     And  where  did  you  remain  longest?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  tell,  madame ;  for  it  has  seldom  been 
an  unbroken  year  in  any  one  place." 

"And  were  you  never  homesick,  abb£?" 

"  Sometimes,  I  confess,  madame ;  for  there  is  no  spot 
of  earth  so  charming  or  so  dear  to  me  as  France." 

"Then,  why  did  you  not  return  sooner? " 

"  I  had  work  to  do  abroad,  madame." 

"  Oh !  you  were  sent  upon  some  mission  by  the 
Church?" 

"We  priests  do  nothing  except  under  direction, 
madame." 

"  And  you  are  never  allowed  to  travel  alone,  I  am 
informed,"  said  the  lady  carelessly. 

"  Madame  forgets  perhaps  that  I  am  not  a  Regular," 
said  the  abbe  with  an  air  of  explaining  every  thing. 

"Well,  then,  you  did  travel  alone?"  demanded  the 
countess  petulantly. 

"  Sometimes,  madame." 


2/2  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAM 

"  And  other  times  who  was  your  companion?  " 

"One  is  always  meeting  friends  and  associates, 
madame.  From  Rome  to  Vienna  I  travelled  with 
Pere  Clement,  a  pupil  of  Pere  Condren,  and  a  very 
holy  man.  Then  in  Ghent  I  met  with  the  venerable 
Pere  Bourdaloue,  and  we  travelled  to  Geneva ;  and  "  — > 

"Yes,  yes,  I  understand;  but  I  meant  rather  to 
inquire  how  long  you  held  companionship  with  my 
husband's  brother,  le  baron  Francois.  You  went 
abroad  in  his  company  at  first,  if  I  remember." 

"  He  is  not  in  France  now  then,  madame  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  am  asking  you,  monsieur." 

"  Excuse  me,  madame ;  but  it  is  I  who  must  ask 
news  of  you  in  such  matters.  I  am  so  new  an  arrival 
on  French  soil  that  I  have  hardly  yet  seen  any  one." 

Madame  la  Comtesse  clenched  the  costly  fan  in  her 
right  hand  until  the  pearl  sticks  broke  with  a  light 
crush  audible  to  the  priest's  ears.  Then  she  sat  a 
little  more  upright,  and  said,  — 

"  Monsieur  I'abb6,  I  need  a  chaplain  here  at  Mont- 
arnaud.  The  duties  are  very  light,  not  interfering 
with  any  other  appointments  he  may  hold,  and  the 
salary  is  something  very  considerable  to  a  priest  merit- 
ing my  approval.  Would  the  post  suit  you,  do  you 
think?" 

"  Admirably,  madame,  if  I  receive  permission  from 
my  superior  to  accept  it." 

"And  who  is  your  superior?" 

"  I  have  so  many,  madame !  The  general  of  our 
Order  first,  no  doubt :  but,  as  I  am  attached  to  the 
Cathedral  at  Marseilles,  I  am  under  the  authority  of 


THE   ROSE-GARDEN  OF  PROVENCE.       2/3 

the  bishop  of  that  diocese  as  to  the  disposal  of  my 
time ;  and,  if  madame  pleases,  I  will  lay  her  very 
flattering  proposal  before  him  to-night,  and,  having 
permission,  will  accept "  — 

"One  moment,  monsieur.  Before  we  settle  the 
chaplaincy  we  will  finish  our  conversation  upon  other 
matters.  Where  did  you  tell  me  you  parted  from  the 
baron  Francois,  who  left  this  house  in  your  company?" 

"  It  is  quite  true,  madame,  that  the  baron  left  here 
in  my  company  upon  the  night  of  the  unfortunate 
quarrel  between  him  and  the  Vicomte  de  Montarnaud, 
and  remained  for  some  days  with  me  in  Marseilles ;  but 
since  that  I  have  no  news  to  tell  of  him." 

"Nothing?  En  passant,  I  have  news  for  you  of 
Mademoiselle  Salerne.  She  is  a  rich  widow  now,  and 
probably  in  need  of  a  confessor.  I  must  get  her  to 
keep  house  for  me  while  I  am  in  Paris  this  winter ; 
and,  if  you  are  chaplain,  you  will  look  after  her,  I  hope. 
Meantime,  what  were  you  saying  of  my  brother-in- 
law?" 

"  Madame,  the  last  time  I  had  the  honor  of  men- 
tioning my  pupil's  name  to  you  was  in  conveying  a 
billet-doux  from  him  to  you  after  his  flight  from  thu> 
house ;  and  on  that  occasion  you  very  properly  repri- 
manded me  for  meddling  in  matters  unbecoming  my 
profession,  and  threatened  to  report  me  to  the  Comte 
de  Montarnaud,  then  alive.  That  reproof  has  had  so 
salutary  an  effect  upon  me,  that  I  believe  I  have  abso- 
lutely lost  my  memory  in  all  matters  except  those  per- 
taining to  the  Church.  I  cannot,  for  instance,  recall 
at  this  moment  any  thing  whatever  in  connection  with 


2/4  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

the  baron  Francois  beyond  your  refusal  to  reply  to 
that  billet-doux" 

"Is  it  possible,  my  dear  abbe?  This  is  a  misfor- 
tune in  which  I  am  compelled  not  only  to  sympathize 
but  share,  since  with  so  fatal  an  infirmity  as  loss  of 
memory,  you  could  not  perform  the  duties  of  chaplain, 
and  we  must  relinquish  the  idea." 

"  So  I  supposed,  madame." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  that  you  cannot  conquer  this 
treacherous  memory,  at  least  in  one  direction  ?  " 

"  Unfortunately,  I  am  quite  sure,  madame." 

"  Such  a  pity !  Adieu,  then,  monsieur.  I  will  not 
detain  you  from  your  sister  longer.  She  has  so  few 
opportunities  of  seeing  her  friends,  poor  thing,  since  I 
do  not  approve  much  visiting  or  receiving  among  the 
persons  in  my  employ." 

The  abb6  bowed  profoundly,  and  withdrew ;  mutter- 
tering  between  his  teeth  as  he  once  more  brushed  the 
roses  of  Montarnaud  from  their  stems  with  the  skirt 
of  his  soutane,  — 

"  These  aristocrats  are  terribly  monotonous  1  They 
have  only  one  little  set  of  insolences,  and  all  use  them 
the  moment  they  cannot  have  their  way  in  every 
thing." 

It  was  one  of  the  unheeded  mutterings  heralding 
the  wildest  storm  of  anarchy  the  world  has  ever  seen : 
it  was  called  the  Reign  of  Terror. 


THF  RESTORATIONS  OF  THE  CHAPEL      2?$ 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE  RESTORATIONS  OF   THE  CHAPEL. 

AMONG  other  advantages  of  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse  de  Montarnaud's  frequent  residences  in 
the  capital,  she  had  become  acquainted  with  her 
country  neighbors,  and  chiefly  with  the  sprightly  and 
fashionable  Marquise  d'Odinard  nee  d'Aubigney,  who 
had  married  a  fair  estate  about  as  far  from  Marseilles 
on  the  one  side  as  Montarnaud  on  the  other.  In  Paris 
the  two  young  women  were  inseparable,  and  in  the 
country  visited  each  other  when  nothing  more  amus- 
ing presented  itself.  In  one  point,  however,  they  had 
hitherto  found  but  little  sympathy;  for  Olive  d'Odi- 
nard, young,  rich,  pretty,  and  spoiled,  found  a  certain 
piquancy  in  varying  her  worldly  pleasures  with  some  of 
those  ascetic  observances  already  coming  into  vogue  at 
court,  where  the  rule  of  Madame  de  Maintenon  was 
replacing  the  gay  sovereignty  of  de  Montespan ;  and 
the  most  frivolous  votaries  of  fashion  made  a  point  of 
weeping  during  the  sermons  of  the  elegant  preachers, 
on  whose  lips  still  rested  the  fires  kindled  by  Francis 
de  Sales,  Bourdaloue,  de  Condren,  Vincent  de  Paul, 
and  the  rest  who  illuminated  this  cycle,  and  so  power- 
fully revived  the  dying  faith  in  France. 

But  Valerie,  although  she  would  fain  follow  every 


2/6  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

fashion  of  the  court,  could  not  endure  the  weariness 
besetting  an  untrue  religious  life ;  and,  when  urged 
thereto  by  her  friend  at  certain  periods,  would  some- 
times declare  that  there  was  no  king  ready  to  marry 
her  as  there  was  for  Madame  de  Maintenon ;  some- 
times that  cards,  stupid  as  they  were,  were  less  weari- 
some than  prayers ;  and  sometimes  that  priests  always 
sent  her  to  sleep  before  she  had  time  to  profit  by  their 
eloquence. 

But  in  the  night  succeeding  her  futile  attempt  to 
corrupt  the  Abb£  Despard's  loyalty  to  his  friend,  Va- 
lerie suddenly  remembered  that  Olive  had  invited  her 
to  dine  on  the  following  day  at  her  house  in  company 
with  Pere  Roussillon,  coadjutor  of  the  cathedral  in 
Marseilles ;  and  the  marquise  had  urged  the  invitation 
by  the  remark  that  P6re  Roussillon  was  precisely  the 
man  to  work  her  friend's  conversion.  Valerie  had  jest- 
ingly declined  this  invitation,  but  now  resolved  to 
accept  it,  nodding  confidentially  to  herself  in  the  dark- 
ness as  she  did  so,  and  then  falling  asleep  with  the 
smile  of  an  approving  conscience  on  her  lips. 

The  next  morning  found  her  silent  and  thoughtful ; 
and  about  noon,  having  made  a  careful  toilet,  she 
entered  her  coach,  and  arrived  at  the  Chateau  d'Odi- 
nard  about  three ;  the  marquise  being  so  ultra  fashion- 
able as  to  dine  at  that  hour  when  on  her  own  estate, 
although  in  Paris  obliged  to  conform  to  the  court  hour 
of  one. 

"  You  see  that  I  have  come,  ma  chere"  said  the 
guest,  embracing  her  hostess  with  effusion ;  "  for  I 
found  myself  so  triste  without  you  after  yesterday 
Besides,  I  want  to  consult  your  Pere  Roussillon  "  — 


THE  RESTORATIONS  OF  THE  CHAPEL.      2JJ 

"  O  Valerie  !  about  your  conscience  ?  "  exclaimed 
Olive,  clasping  her  hands  in  rapture. 

"  No,  dear,"  replied  Valerie  dryly.  "About  a  much 
more  interesting  matter,  the  restoration  of  the  chapel 
at  Montarnaud.  It  is  quite  in  ruins ;  and  I  want  it 
made  just  as  lovely  as  yours  here  at  Odinard,  and  then 
I  will  have  a  chaplain  and  daily  mass.  Now,  I  hear 
tnat  the  coadjutor  understands  ecclesiastical  archi- 
tecture a  merveille,  and  I  thought  I  would  consult 
him.  Am  I  right?" 

"Admirably  right,  ma  mie.  Yes,  indeed,  Pere 
Roussillon  understands  all  this  sort  of  thing  as  no- 
body else  does.  The  restorations  at  the  cathedral 
were  all  his  work.  The  bishop  put  the  whole  thing 
in  his  hands ;  and,  truth  to  tell,  the  dear  bishop  is  not 
half  so  learned  a  man  as  his  coadjutor,  although  of 
course  more  holy." 

"  Why  more  holy?  "  asked  Valerie  in  surprise. 

"Just  because  he  is  a  bishop,  I  mean.  Is  not  his 
holiness  the  Pope  more  holy  than  —  well,  this  Pere 
Despard,  for  instance,  who  has  just  been  made  assistant 
at  the  cathedral  ?  I  was  so  vexed  on  Saturday  to  find 
him  in  the  confessional !  He  said  Pere  Roussillon  was 
ill,  and  had  sent  him  in  his  place." 

"  Pere  Despard  is  assistant  to  the  coadjutor,  is  he?  " 
asked  Valerie  carelessly. 

"  Yes.  But  he  is  nobody.  Come  up-stairs,  and  let 
Pauline  arrange  your  head-dress  a  little.  How  lovely 
you  have  made  yourself  to-day ! " 

When  the  ladies  returned  to  the  salon y  Pere  Rous- 
sillon had  already  arrived  with  some  guests,  and  was 


278  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

presently  seated  beside  Valerie  at  the  table,  much  to 
his  satisfaction  as  well  as  hers ;  for  Madame  d'Odinard 
had  spoken  so  often  and  so  earnestly  to  her  confessor 
of  this  altogether  worldly  yet  altogether  charming 
friend  of  hers,  and  expressed  such  an  ardent  wish  for 
her  conversion,  that  the  worthy  coadjutor,  not  a  little 
bitten  with  the  zeal  for  proselytism  so  current  just  then 
in  France,  felt  a  considerable  desire  to  try  his  powers 
on  this  rebellious  daughter  of  the  Church. 

But  the  good  and  simple  priest  was  no  match  for 
the  practised  woman  of  the  world  whom  he  aspired  to 
lead,  and  very  soon  was  himself  led,  all  unconsciously 
no  doubt,  but  very  docilely,  into  precisely  the  paths 
where  she  had  intended  he  should  tread.  The  res- 
torations of  the  chapel  were  thoroughly  discussed ;  and 
it  was  Pere  Roussillon  himself  who  proposed  to  visit 
Montarnaud  the  next  day,  and  make  further  suggestions 
on  the  spot;  and  Madame  Montarnaud  promised  to 
present  herself  very,  very  soon  at  the  cathedral,  not 
only  to  admire  the  restorations  on  which  the  good 
coadjutor  justly  prided  himself,  but  to  perform  the  reli- 
gious duties  which  she  owned,  with  the  innocent  self- 
accusation  of  a  child,  had  been  sadly  neglected ;  and 
then  dinner  was  over,  and  the  company  adjourned  to 
the  garden  to  make  Watteau  pictures  of  themselves  in 
the  twilight ;  and  presently  the  priest  again  found  him- 
self beside  the  fair  convert,  who  evidently  only  needed 
proper  guidance  to  do  such  great  things,  and  by  and 
by  was  insensibly  led  into  talking  of  the  missions  in 
Canada,  a  subject  in  which,  as  all  the  world  knew,  he 
was  deeply  learned  and  warmly  interested.  Espe- 


THE  RESTORATIONS  OF   THE   CHAPEL.      279 

cially  he  waxed  eloquent  in  praise  of  Madame  de  la 
Peltrie,  that  young,  wealthy,  and  attractive  widow,  who 
had  found  it  joy  to  devote  herself  and  all  that  she 
possessed  to  the  actual  toil  and  privation  of  this 
mission,  who  had  built  churches  and  convents  in  the 
wilderness,  taught  the  Indians,  nursed  the  sick,  en- 
couraged her  fellow-laborers,  and  now  recently  died 
upon  the  scene  of  her  glorious  career,  leaving  a 
terrible  gap  in  the  heroic  band  still  lingering  on  the 
shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  although  well-nigh  dis- 
couraged. 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  woman  like  that,"  said  Valerie  in 
bitter  admiration,  as  she  listened  to  the  priest's  glowing 
periods,  and  for  a  moment  she  really  did ;  then  return- 
ing to  her  own  life  with  a  little  shrug  and  sigh,  she 
said,  "  What  vivid  pictures  you  draw  of  all  these  things, 
man  pere!  You  have  been  in  Quebec,  or  at  least 
spoken  with  some  of  these  heroes?  " 

"  I  have  never  been  allowed  to  go,  although  always 
desiring  it,"  said  the  priest.  "  But  I  have  spoken  with 
many  of  our  returned  missioners,  and  lately  have 
talked  much  with  my  new  assistant,  Pere  Despard,  but 
just  returned  from  Canada." 

"Ah,\yes,  Pere  Despard,"  said  Valerie  carelessly. 
"  I  used  to  know  him  very  well  in  the  old  days  at 
Montarnaud.  And  did  monsieur  my  brother-in-law 
interest  himself  in  all  these  good  and  pious  works  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  fear  not,"  replied  the  priest  absently ; 
and  then  suddenly  recognizing  his  indiscretion,  ne 
glanced  somewhat  severely  at  the  Eve  beside  him,  and 
coldly  said,  — 


280  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  I  crave  pardon  of  madame.  I  answered  at  ran' 
dom  and  without  listening  to  her  question.  May  I  ask 
madame  to  repeat  it?  " 

Madame  could  not  immediately  reply ;  for  her  lace 
flounce  had  caught  on  the  twig  of  a  holly-bush,  and 
such  costly  lace  must  be  dealt  tenderly  withal.  By  the 
time  it  was  released  and  she  stood  upright  again, 
miladi's  rdle  was  taken,  —  the  admirable  but  most 
delicate  rdle  of  audacious  frankness.  Looking  straight 
into  the  somewhat  threatening  eyes  of  her  com- 
panion, she  laughed  lightly,  and  said,  — 

"  I  have  surprised  your  secret,  mon  pere  !  and  you 
are  angry  at  me,  and  no  wonder  !  It  was  very  bold, 
very  irreverent,  and  you  shall  put  me  to  penance  the 
very  first  time  I  go  to  the  cathedral;  but  I  did  so 
want  to  know  if  that  poor  boy  were  alive,  and  where, 
and  how.  My  companion  of  childhood,  my  husband's 
only  brother,  the  heir  after  Therese  to  all  our  estates  ! 
Was  it  not  reasonable  that  I  should  desire  to  know?  " 

"  Most  reasonable,  madame ;  but  why  not  ask 
honestly  for  the  information,  supposing  I  had  it?" 
demanded  the  priest  reprovingly,  yet  softening. 

"  Ah,  mon  pere  !  do  not  set  me  bad  examples,  then, 
by  trifling  with  the  truth.  '  Supposing  you  had  it ! '  but 
I  already  knew  you  to  have  it :  I  saw  the  Abb6  Despard 
but  yesterday ;  and,  although  he  would  not  give  me  the 
intelligence  I  asked,  himself,  he  let  me  understand  — 
But  there,  my  heedless  tongue  will  bring  me  into  new 
mischief.  At  any  rate,  I  know  that  you  know  all  about 
my  poor  brother,  and  that  you  feel  bound  to  keep  the 
secret,  although  as  it  was  not  told  you  in  confession  it 


THE  RESTORATIONS  OF  THE  CHAPEL.      28 1 

can  be  no  sin  to  reveal  it ;  and  so,  neither  wishing  to 
give  you  the  pain  of  refusing  me,  nor  the  temptation 
to  betray  a  confidence,  I  just  surprised  you  into  a 
confession  which  does  away  with  all  need  of  further 
reticence.  Say  you  forgive  me,  mon  perc" 

The  coadjutor  shook  his  head  and  frowned,  yet 
smiled  in  such  evident  amusement  that  Valerie  saw 
that  the  day  was  hers,  and  went  on,  — 

"  And  it  is  in  your  interests,  mon  pere,  as  a  pillar  of 
the  Church,  as  well  as  in  mine  as  a  relative,  that  I 
wish  to  find  and  influence  this  misguided  boy.  My 
poor  little  The"rese  is  but  a  puny  child ;  and  should  she 
die  unmarried  Francois  inherits  all  the  property  of 
Montarnaud  and  Rochenbois ;  and  after  him  again 
conies  Berthier  de  Montarnaud,  his  cousin,  and  a  bit- 
ter Huguenot." 

"A  Huguenot !  "  echoed  Pere  Roussillon,  in  a  voice 
as  if  he  said,  "  A  boa-constrictor  ! "  Valerie  nodded 
significantly. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  a  Huguenot  of  the  Huguenots,  who 
would  sell  every  thing  that  could  be  sold  of  these 
fair  estates,  and  pour  all  the  proceeds  into  the  hands 
of  these  heretical  and  blasphemous  Genevan  ministers. 
Is  it  not  worth  while  to  do  something  to  prevent 
this?" 

"  Is  it  not,  indeed  ! "  echoed  the  priest :  "  madame, 
you  alarm  me  incredibly,  and  I  fully  forgive  the  little 
ruse  by  which  you  surprised  my  knowledge  of  your 
brother's  whereabouts.  Still,  I  do  not  feel  at  liberty  to 
give  you  one  word  further  of  information  without  the 
knowledge  of  Pere  Despard,  and  his  permission  to, 


282  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

repeat —  Stay,  if  he  would  himself  speak  to  you,  it 
might  be  better,  would  it  not?  " 

Valerie  smiled  maliciously.  Really  it  would  not  be 
bad  to  have  this  insolent  priest,  who  had  so  coolly 
refused  to  give  her  the  information  she  sought,  forced 
to  come  and  give  her  yet  more ;  and  she  somewhat 
eagerly  replied,  — 

"  Oh,  yes,  mon  pere  !  Give  him  your  orders  to  tell 
me  all  that  I  desire  to  know,  and  bring  him  with  you 
to-morrow  to  Montarnaud." 

"  I  can  hardly  give  Monsieur  Despard  orders  in  a 
matter  of  this  sort,"  replied  the  coadjutor  coldly,  for 
something  in  the  malicious  tone  repelled  and  warned 
him.  "  For  I  am  neither  the  Bishop  of  Marseilles, 
that  is  to  say,  his  ecclesiastical  superior,  nor  am  I  his 
confessor  and  spiritual  director :  but  I  will  represent  to 
him  the  great  benefit  possibly  to  be  gained  to  the 
Church  by  openly  imparting  any  information  concern- 
ing his  late  pupil  to  the  relatives  of  that  gentleman  • 
and  —  in  short,  madame,  you  may  expect  the  abbe1  lo 
accompany  me  to  Montarnaud  to-morrow." 

" Thank  you,  thank  you,  mon  plre"  replied  the 
countess,  feeling  that  she  had  better  push  the  matter 
no  farther.  "And  now  tell  me  something  more  of 
Madame  de  la  Peltrie,  whom  I  absolutely  feel  tempted 
to  imitate." 


THE  DOCTORS  DRESSING-ROOM.     283 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 
THE  DOCTOR'S  DRESSING-ROOM. 

THE  piece  of  land  for  the  doctor's  house  was 
allotted  by  the  town,  and  the  tract  of  woodland 
apportioned ;  but  when  the  question  of  building  the 
house  arose,  it  was  found  that  the  new  citizen  had 
not  only  ideas  of  his  own,  but  the  means  of  carrying 
them  out.  So  far  from  accepting  assistance  from  the 
town,  he  proved  himself  a  more  liberal  and  indulgent 
paymaster  than  the  mechanics  employed  had  ever 
met,  and  so  courteous  moreover,  that  these  men,  all 
of  them  worthy  and  responsible  townsmen,  found  no 
derogation  from  their  dignity  in  obeying  his  orders. 

Some  little  gossip  arose,  however,  as  the  new  house 
approached  completion,  and  still  more  when  it  was 
furnished  and  ready  for  occupancy ;  for,  although  the 
principal  rooms  were  arranged  much  after  the  usual 
fashion  of  the  time,  and  filled  with  the  best  part  of 
the  movables  from  Molly's  own  house  beyond  Fal- 
fliouth,  there  were  two  rooms  forming  a  wing  or  L, 
devoted  to  her  husband's  sole  occupancy,  and  fur- 
nished after  his  own  taste,  partly  from  Molly's  stores 
and  partly  from  articles  purchased  in  Boston  where  the 
doctor  made  occasional  visits,  although  none  of  the 
gossips  could  ascertain  whither  he  went.  The  Iowa 


284  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

of  these  rooms,  connected  with  the  main  body  of 
the  house  by  one  door,  and  with  the  street  by  another, 
was  Dr.  LeBaron's  office,  library,  and  smoking-room  : 
and  from  it  a  narrow,  enclosed,  winding  stair  led  to  a 
room  above,  called  his  dressing-room,  opening  into 
his  wife's  bedroom;  the  latter  a  large  and  well- 
furnished  chamber,  adorned  with  the  famous  curtains 
wrought  by  Grandmother  Ames  and  serving  as  Molly 
Wilder's  bridal  dress.  The  doctor's  dressing-room, 
although  containing  various  matters  not  considered 
essential  by  his  stern  and  ascetic  townsmen,  might, 
however,  have  passed  without  comment,  but  for  one 
article  appearing  there  on  the  very  day  when  the  house 
was  pronounced  ready  for  occupancy,  and  whose  pres- 
ence, discovered  by  Desire  Billings,  the  young  woman 
who  had  undertaken  to  help  Mistress  LeBaron  in  her 
household  duties,  was  before  bedtime  known  at  nearly 
every  fireside  in  Plymouth.  This  was  a  hammock,  a 
new  and  substantial  hammock,  probably  bought  in 
Boston  on  the  doctor's  last  visit  thither,  and  swung  by 
his  own  hands  to  iron  staples,  inserted  during  the 
building  of  the  room,  in  the  solid  oaken  beams  at  the 
corners,  proving,  as  Desire  shrewdly  pointed  out,  that 
this  arrangement  was  no  sudden  caprice  or  fancy  of 
the  doctor's,  but  a  deliberate  plan  of  life. 

"And  is  it  furnished  with  bedclothes?"  asked  the 
gossip  to  whom  Desire  first  confided  her  discovery. 
That  discreet  young  woman  screwed  up  her  mouth 
and  slowly  nodded. 

"There's  a  hard  pillow;  what  it's  made  of,  I  don't 
know,  but  not  of  good  live-geese  feathers  like  those  in 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DRESSING-ROOM.        285 

the  rest  of  the  house ;  and  there's  a  couple  of  black 
things  that  maybe  pass  for  blankets,  and  there's  a  sort 
of  a  rug  to  lie  on.  If  you  call  that  'furnished  with 
bedclothes,'  why,  I  don't." 

"  And  he'U  leave  that  poor  young  woman's  bed  for 
inch  a  pig's  nest  as  that !  "  exclaimed  the  gossip ;  and 
then  she  and  Desire  Billings  flew  in  opposite  direc- 
tions to  spread  the  news  and  the  conjectures. 

The  next  day  Dame  Priest  called  upon  the  doctor'* 
wife ;  and  after  various  professions  of  friendly  interest, 
and  matronly  readiness  to  aid  the  young  wife  by 
counsel  or  sympathy,  she  asked  to  be  shown  over  the 
house.  Molly,  a  little  proud  of  her  new  dignity  and 
possessions,  complied  with  friendly  alacrity,  and  dis- 
played the  pretty  parlor,  not  half  so  dismal  as  that 
which  had  originally  contained  most  of  the  furniture ; 
for  Dr.  LeBaron  had  insisted  upon  a  wide,  sunny 
window  filled  with  boxes  of  flowering  plants,  and  had 
provided  two  or  three  good  pictures  to  ornament  the 
walls,  and  advised  in  the  less  formal  arrangement  of 
the  furniture.  On  the  other  side  of  the  front  door 
was  the  more  usual  sitting-room,  with  Molly's  work- 
table,  an  open  fireplace  ready  piled  with  light  wood 
for  the  first  chilly  evening,  and  some  comfortable 
chairs,  as  comfort  was  then  understood. 

"And  this  door?  "  demanded  the  visitor,  laying  hei 
hand  upon  the  latch  of  the  one  her  topographical 
instincts  told  her  was  that  of  the  study  containing  the 
secret  stair,  as  it  was  already  called. 

"Oh!  that  is  my  husband's  office,"  said  Molly 
calmly ;  "  and  I  think  he  is  ttere  now,  so  we  will  not 


286  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAM 

disturb  him.  Here  is  our  little  dining-room ;  and  here 
the  kitchen,  which  you  see  Desire  keeps  so  nicely  it 
is  the  best  room  in  the  house.  Then,  will  you  come 
up  stairs?" 

''  I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  replied  Dame  Priest,  whose 
whole  visit  had  tended  to  this  point.  So  up  stairs 
they  went,  looked  into  the  guest-room,  with  its  chill 
and  formal  appointments ;  into  the  sunny  little  bed- 
room devoted  to  Desire  Billings  :  the  great  unfinished 
kitchen-chamber,  where  already  a  modest  little  pile  of 
undesirable  furniture  represented  its  future  use  as  a 
lumber-room ;  and  finally  Mistress  LeBaron,  with  an 
effort  to  hide  her  own  delight  under  an  assumption  of 
carelessness,  threw  open  the  door  of  the  room  over 
the  sitting-room,  and  said,  — 

"  This  is  my  own  room." 

"  Yours  and  the  doctor's,  you  mean,  my  dear,"  cor- 
rected the  elder  matron;  and  Molly  pleasantly  re- 
plied, — 

"  Why,  of  course.  It  would  not  be  mine  at  all  if  it 
were  not  his ;  for  I  should  not  be  his  wife." 

Margery  Priest  stared  a  little \  for  the  sweet  secu- 
rity of  love  thrilling  in  Molly's  voice  was  inharmonious 
with  the  unhappiness  she  had  come  prepared  to 
probe. 

"Well,"  said  she  reluctantly  at  last,  "I'm  glad 
you're  so  comfortable,  dear ;  and  this  is  really  a  beauti- 
ful setting-out.  What  nice  furniture,  and  what  lovely 
curtains  !  Did  you  do  them  yourself?  " 

As  she  asked  the  innocent-seeming  question,  Dame 
Priest  approached  the  bed  closely  as  if  to  examine  the 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DRESSING-ROOM.       287 

needlework,  and  glanced  shrewdly  between  the  cur- 
tains ;  but  the  smooth  and  unwrinkled  exterior  told  no 
tales.  Evidently  the  fortress  was  not  to  be  surprised, 
or  taken  by  siege ;  a  coup  dc  main  must  be  attempt- 
ed ;  and  without  saying  a  word  Dame  Priest  turned, 
and  raised  the  latch  of  the  door  answering  to  that  of 
the  study  in  the  room  below.  It  was  fastened  inside, 
and  her  vigorous  tug  resulted  merely  in  the  shaip 
tingle  of  her  own  fingers  as  they  slipped  from  the 
latch.  Molly  smiled  and  said  nothing;  but  having 
gone  so  far,  the  inquisitor  threw  discretion  to  the 
winds,  and  boldly  inquired,  — 

"Where  does  that  door  lead,  Mistress  LeBaron?" 

"To  my  husband's  dressing-room,"  replied  Molly 
briefly. 

"And  does  he  keep  it  locked  against  you,  poor 
child  ?  "  demanded  the  dame  compassionately. 

"  No ;  for  I  never  tried  to  open  it,"  said  Molly,  turn- 
ing to  leave  the  room ;  but  her  visitor  detained  her  by 
a  grasp  upon  her  arm,  while  she  said,  — 

"  Child,  you  need  not  try  to  hide  it  from  me,  that 
am  a  woman  old  enough  to  be  your  mother,  and  have 
manieJ  girls  of  my  own.  You've  married  a  foreigner, 
French  or  German  or  Italian,  —  some  say  one,  and 
some  another ;  and  now  he's  treating  you  as  those  men 
always  do  treat  their  wives,  having  his  separate  bed- 
chamber, and  separate  doors  to  let  in  nobody  knows 
who  all,  and  you  his  lawful  wife  locked  out.  It's  a 
shame,  I  say ;  and  if  there's  no  one  else  to  take  your 
part,  you  poor  motherless  child,  I  will ;  and  I'll  speak 
to  that  man  myself,  and  tell  him  he's  town-talk  already, 


288  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN 

with  his  hammocks,  and  his  dressing-rooms,  and  his 
secret  staircases,  and  private  doors ;  and  you  just  as 
sweet  and  pretty  a  wife  as  any  man  need  ask  ! " 

She  paused,  more  from  failure  of  breath  than  of 
words,  and,  putting  her  arms  round  Molly's  neck, 
planted  a  vigorous  kiss  upon  her  cheek,  finding  it 
im]>ossible  to  reach  her  averted  lips.  The  young  wife 
received  the  caress,  and  released  herself  from  the 
embrace  gently  but  decidedly. 

"  You  are  really  very  kind,  madame,"  said  she  in 
the  calm,  sonorous  tone  from  which  her  voice  seldom 
varied ;  "  and  if  you  would  like  to  speak  to  my  hus- 
band at  once,  I  will  bring  you  to  him." 

"Well,  —  I'm  ready.  I  never  gave  way  before 
prince  or  potentate  yet ;  and  I'm  not  in  terror  of  any 
mortal  man,"  asseverated  the  dame,  considerably  star- 
tled at  this  prompt  acceptance  of  her  offer,  and  not  a 
little  aghast  at  the  idea  of  direct  collision  with  the 
doctor  to  whom  she  had  never  spoken.  But  without 
further  parley,  the  doctor's  wife  rapidly  led  the  way 
down  stairs  and  through  the  sitting-room  to  the  door 
of  the  office,  which  she  opened  without  hesitation. 
Dr.  LeBaron  sat  in  a  leathern  arm-chair  beside  the 
open  window,  looking  into  his  newly-planted  garden, 
reading  a  foreign  newspaper,  and  spoiling  the  sweet 
summer  air  with  the  fumes  of  a  pipe. 

As  his  wife  and  her  guest  appeared,  he  rose,  laid 
aside  the  pipe,  and  bowed  with  somewhat  ceremo- 
nious politeness.  Molly  at  once  explained  her  errand. 

"  Dr.  LeBaron,  this  lady  is  Mistress  Priest,  whom  I 
believe  you  do  not  know.  She  has  somewhat  to  s?.y 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DRESSING-ROOM.        2&) 

to  you ;  and,  as  it  also  concerns  me,  I  will,  if  it  please 
you,  stay  and  listen." 

"  May  I  offer  you  a  chair,  madame?"  said  the  doc- 
tor, placing  one  for  each  lady,  and  then  seating  him- 
self with  grave  professional  attention.  Margery  Priest 
felt  herself  daunted  far  more  than  when  she  had  en- 
countered a  drunken  Indian  in  the  woods,  and  only 
preserved  her  scalp  by  personal  prowess.  She  glanced 
from  the  doctor's  handsome,  haughty,  and  expectant 
face,  to  the  severe  and  threatening  features  of  his  wife, 
colored  scarlet,  cleared  her  throat,  and  desperately 
began,  — 

"  Well,  you  see,  doctor,  your  having  that  hammock 
has  made  a  good  deal  of  talk ;  and  I  thought,  Mistress 
LeBaron  being  so  young  a  woman,  and  an  orphan  as  I 
understand,  I  might  speak  to  her  as  I  would  to  a 
daughter  of  my  own.  I'm  sure  I  feel  like  a  mother  to 
her  already ;  and  so  I  thought  I'd  speak  to  her,  and  — 
and"  — 

Her  voice  died  out  in  a  little  nervous  gasp ;  and  Dr. 
LeBaron  waited  gravely,  politely,  but  in  vain,  for  the 
end  of  the-  chaotic  sentence.  At  last  he  said,  — 

"  I  fear,  madame,  I  hardly  understand  you  as  yet. 
\  )u  feel  like  a  mother  to  Mistress  LeBaron,  for  which 
she  and  I  are  deeply  grateful ;  but  why  that  amiable 
feeling  on  your  part  involves  the  displeasure  of  the 
town  at  my  owning  a  hammock,  is  not  plain  to  my  dull 
mind." 

"Why,  you  have  a  separate  room,  and  a  private 
door,  and  a  secret  staircase ! "  exclaimed  Dame 
Priest,  clutching  her  departing  courage  with  both 
nands,  and  speaking  very  loud. 


290  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"True,  madame,  and  then?"  asked  the  doctor  in 
a  tone  of  silken  courtesy. 

"Why  —  why  —  well,  but  you're  a  married  man, 
aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Happily  I  am,  madame." 

"Well  then,  doctor,  to  speak  out  plain,  we  think 
here  in  Plymouth  that  married  men  have  no  need  of 
any  room  except  their  wife's." 

"  And  you  have  been  selected  by  the  town  officers 
to  convey  their  mind  to  us?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  don't  claim  any  thing  of  the  kind.  I 
only  came  in  a  friendly  way,  to  tell  Mistress  LeBaron 
that  —  that"  — 

"  That  you  felt  like  a  mother  to  her.  Ah,  yes !  1 
understand,"  said  the  doctor  gayly.  "But  it  is  the 
fashion  in  most  countries,  madame,  for  the  mother, 
when  her  daughter  is  married,  to  make  over  her 
guardianship  to  the  husband,  at  least  until  he  proves 
himself  unworthy  of  the  trust.  When  my  wife  feels 
me  to  be  thus  unworthy,  I  doubt  not  she  will  apply  to 
you  without  delay  for  comfort  and  protection.  Might 
I  ask  you  to  wait  for  that  day  before  again  putting 
yourself  to  this  trouble?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  dame,  bewildered  at  a  speech 
sounding  so  deferential,  and  yet,  as  she  dimly  sus- 
pected, so  baffling  in  its  meaning. 

"  And  now,"  pursued  the  doctor,  "  since  you  have 
mentioned  my  poor  little  domestic  arrangements, 
allow  me  to  show  them  to  you.  This  door,  opening 
upon  the  alley  at  the  side  of  my  garden,  is  what  you 
mention  as  the  private  door,  I  presume.  It  is  intended 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DRESSING-ROOM.        2QI 

for  the  use  of  my  patients;  and  I  think  it  is  bettei 
than  for  them  to  pass  through  my  wife's  sitting-room 
to  arrive  at  the  office,  do  not  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  doctor,  I  suppose  it  is." 

"Very  well.  Then  here  is  the  secret  staircase, 
opening  by  this  door  without  other  fastening  than  a 
latch,  and  obvious  to  every  one  entering  the  office. 
Will  you  go  up?" 

Without  reply,  Mistress  Priest  climbed  the  steep 
and  narrow  stair,  and  through  a  door  at  the  top  passed 
into  a  small  room,  containing  many  objects  she  had 
never  before  seen  and  at  which  she  stared  open- 
mouthed.  Dr.  LeBaron  gravely  pointed  them  out :  — 

"  This,  madame,  is  a  dressing-case  of  foreign  work- 
manship, and  more  usually  found  in  older  countries 
than  here  perhaps ;  still,  not  dangerous  to  the  public 
peace  or  to  household  morality.  These  are  shaving- 
brushes  and  razors;  these  are  called  tweezers,  and 
this  is  a  flesh-brush  to  be  used  in  a  dry  bath ;  those 
are  English  boot-hooks,  and  this  is  a  powdering  appara- 
tus. Here  is  the  closet  for  my  clothes,  and  this  for  my 
boots  "  — 

"  Well,  there's  the  hammock  anyway  ! "  exclaimed 
Dame  Priest  triumphantly,  as  she  pointed  at  the 
obnoxious  article  slung  across  one  end  of  the  little 
room,  and  neatly  furnished  with  the  bedding  described 
by  Desire  Billings. 

"Yes,  madame,  there  is  the  hammock  anyway,  as 
you  justly  observe.  Pray,  madame,  did  you  ever 
swing  in  a  hammock?  " 

"I?    No,  indeed,  doctor." 


2Q2  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"In  that  case,  madame,  you  have  no  idea  of  the 
salubrious  and  recuperative  effects  of  its  motion ;  seda- 
tive yet  exhilarating,  monotonous  yet  not  stultify- 
ing"— 

"I  don't  know  what  any  of  those  long  words 
mean,"  interposed  Mrs.  Priest  sullenly. 

"  Then,  madame,  you  can  never  understand  why  I 
keep  a  hammock  in  my  dressing-room,"  replied  the 
doctor  gravely.  "Mistress  LeBaron  has  studied  the 
subject,  however,  and  may  explain  it  to  you." 

"Does  she  ever  get  into  the  thing?"  demanded 
Mistress  Priest  eagerly. 

"Whenever  she  chooses,"  replied  the  doctor  with 
gravity. 


DEAD   THINGS   THAT  WILL  NOT  SLEEP. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  DEAD  THINGS  THAT  WILL  NOT  SLEEP. 

A  YEAR  passed  by,  —  a  year  of  sweet  content  to 
Mary  LeBaron,  of  revolution  to  her  husband; 
for  in  every  day  of  it  he  laid  aside  some  jot  or  tittle 
of  the  old  life,  and  by  just  so  much  adapted  himself 
to  the  new.  Molly  silently  watched  this  process,  and 
with  rare  self-control  made  no  comment,  either  upon 
what  was  laid  aside,  or  what  assumed.  In  the  very 
dawn  of  her  married  history  she  had  comprehended 
and  accepted  her  part  in  her  husband's  life,  and  there 
remained  content.  He  had  told  her  that  from  his 
past  she  was  forever  excluded;  and,  remembering 
Lot's  wife,  she  never  looked  back.  She  soon  under- 
stood also  that  all  comment  upon  his  looks,  spirits,  or 
especially  his  silences,  were  unwelcome,  and  after  a 
little  she  never  made  them :  she  found  that  all  as- 
sumptions as  to  his  nationality  came  under  the  for- 
bidden head;  and  she  soon  said  that  she  "did  not 
know,"  when  asked  if  her  husband  were  a  Frenchman ; 
she  perceived  that  he  abhorred  giving  account  of  his 
movements  during  absence,  or  even  of  mentioning 
what  persons  he  might  have  met,  and  she  never  set 
up  that  domestic  tribunal  before  which  so  many  good 
wives  nightly  arraign  their  husbands.  Quick  in  all  his 


294  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

perceptions,  LeBaron  was  not  slow  to  notice  this 
silent  submission  to  his  wishes,  and  as  silently  re- 
warded it  by  a  large  admixture  of  respect  and  admira- 
tion in  the  love  he  never  had  ceased  to  entertain  for  his 
wife.  He  was  none  the  less  reticent  certainly,  and  the 
spaces  of  his  life  wherein  he  chose  to  be  alone  re- 
mained closed  as  rigorously  against  her  as  all  the  rest 
of  the  world :  but  there  were  pleasant  paths  of  daily 
life  wherein  he  delighted  to  walk  beside  her;  there 
were  hours  of  happiest  intercourse  wherein  he  fed  her 
mind  with  knowledge  gathered  in  many  a  foreign 
clime,  or  from  books  of  which  she  had  never  heard. 
He  thrust  aside  for  her  the  narrowing  walls  of  seclu- 
sion and  inexperience,  and  gave  her,  through  love  of 
him,  that  liberal  education  credited  to  the  lovers  of 
fair  Lady  Mary  Montague. 

In  fact,  the  LeBarons  were  an  exceptionally  happy 
couple ;  and  yet  a  weaker  woman  would  have  been 
miserable  in  Molly's  place,  and  a  less  self-contained 
man  would  have  shown  upon  the  surface  the  pains  and 
struggles  with  which  the  citizen  of  the  world  cramped 
himself  into  the  narrow  sphere  of  the  village  doctor. 
True,  this  sphere  was  always  and  rapidly  enlarging, 
as  the  fame  of  the  thorough-bred,  daring,  and  intelli- 
gent surgeon  spread  through  the  country-side ;  so  that 
after  two  or  three  years  his  practice  extended,  so  to 
speak,  over  a  radius  of  at  least  a  hundred  miles,  since 
his  advice  was  sought  from  that  distance  in  cases  of 
difficult  surgery  or  mysterious  disease.  Among  his 
townsmen,  and  those  who  saw  him  most  constantly, 
but  one  opinion  was  ever  heard  as  to  his  skill,  his 


DEAD    THINGS  THAT  WILL  NOT  SLEEP.     295 

industry,  or  his  benevolence  \  but  at  least  two  very 
varying  opinions  were  held  and  proclaimed  as  re- 
garded his  social  character  and  behavior,  —  one  class 
of  persons  finding  him  brief,  sharp,  self-asserting,  even 
insolent  of  demeanor ;  others  complaining  that  he  ridi- 
culed their  alarms,  and  laughed  at  their  symptoms; 
while  the  poor,  the  humble,  the  timid,  and  the  unfor- 
tunate declared  themselves  healed  more  by  the  doctor's 
patient  and  tireless  sympathy,  courteous  attention,  and 
charitable  remembrance  of  all  their  needs,  than  by  his 
physic ;  and  the  fourth  and  smallest  class  of  persons, 
those  who  showed  themselves  reasonable  and  con- 
siderate, courteous  and  delicate,  said  that  if  there  was 
but  one  gentleman  in  the  American  Colonies,  that 
gentleman  was  Dr.  LeBaron. 

It  was  in  the  third  year  of  his  marriage,  and  the 
second  of  his  son's  iife,  that  the  doctor  was  sum- 
moned late  one  evening  to  attend  a  sick  man  at  the 
Bunch  of  Grapes.  He  went  at  once,  and  first  en- 
countered his  stanch  friend  and  partisan  the  buxom 
landlady,  who  greeting  him  heartily,  said,  — 

"Yes,  doctor,  there  is  a  gentleman  up-stairs  who 
wants  you.  He  came  in  '  The  Nautilus,'  just  down 
from  Boston  with  a  cargo  of  groceries  and  English 
wares.  We  have  some  first-rate  Hollands  and  some 
white  sugar  aboard,  if  you  are,  wanting  any  at  home  : 
and  when  Cap'n  Storms  came  up,  this  passenger  came 
along  too ;  and  the  cap'n  he  said  he  was  a  Boston 
gentleman,  that  being  but  poorly  had  tried  the  sea-trip 
for  his  health,  but  could  not  abide  the  living  on  board, 
and  so  was  e'en  worse  than  when  he  started,  and 


296  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

thought  he  would  land  and  go  home  that  way ;  but 
when  he  got  to  my  house,  he  asked  had  we  never  a 
doctor  in  town ;  and  I,  —  well,  though  he  is  indeed 
a  gentleman,  and  a  man  of  substance,  too,  I  could  not 
but  laugh  in  his  face,  and  say  after  him,  '  Never  a  doc- 
tor, quotha  !  Why,  sir,  didst  never  hear  of  the  great 
Dr.  LeBaron,  who  '  "  — 

"  Now  dame,  dame,  have  I  not  forbid  thee,  time 
and  again,  to  cackle  over  me  after  that  fashion?  I'll 
take  thy  leg  off  yet,  if  thou  art  so  disobedient." 

—  '"The  great  Dr.  LeBaron,'  says  I,  'who  is  sent  for 
to  New  Bedford, — yes,  and  to  Boston  itself,  —  when 
there  is  a  matter  passing  the  skill  of  their  own  doctors 
and  you  ask,  have  we  never  a  doctor  ! '  So  says  my 
gentleman,  '  Then  send  for  him  in  Heaven's  name,  and 
let  him  cure  this  horrible  feeling  at  my  stomach  if  he 
can.'  And  so  I  says  to  Zeb,  'There,  man,  finish  your 
supper,  and  run  round  for  the  doctor ; '  and  so  "  — 

"Yes,  yes;  and  he's  up  in  the  best  bedroom,  I'll 
be  bound?" 

"  That  he  is,  doctor ;  and  "  — 

But  the  doctor  was  already  out  of  hearing,  and  tap- 
ping peremptorily  at  the  door  of  the  best  bedroom, 
the  same  where  we  were  first  introduced  to  the  medi- 
cal faculty  of  Plymouth  Colony  during  their  famous 
consultation  over  Dame  Tilley's  leg. 

"  Come  in,"  said  a  muffled  voice ;  and  entering  at 
once,  Dr.  LeBaron  approached  the  bed,  whereon  lay  a 
man,  covered  with  blankets,  but  fully  dressed,  whc 
rose  at  his  approach,  and  looked  him  in  the  face  with- 
out speaking.  The  doctor  returned  the  look,  at  first 


DEAD    THINGS   THAT  WILL  NOT  SLEEP.     2<)J 

with  curiosity,  then  with  some  other  and  more  power- 
ful emotion,  —  so  powerful,  in  fact,  that  it  suddenly 
blanched  his  handsome  face  to  a  dull  ashen  hue,  as  he 
quietly  said  in  French,  — 

"  It  is  you,  then,  mon  abbe  !  " 

"  Yes,  mon  cher  baron,  it  is  one  of  the  oldest,  and  I 
t;ally  think  the  very  warmest,  of  your  friends.  What 
joy  to  find  you  alive  and  well !  "  And  with  real  emo- 
tion the  abbe'  embraced  his  former  pupil  after  the  effu- 
sive style  of  his  nation  and  his  epoch.  The  doctor 
rather  submitted  to,  than  returned,  the  embrace,  and 
suddenly  sat  down.  The  abbe"  looked  at  him  keenly 
for  some  moments,  then  said,  — 

" You  are  not  glad  to  see  me,  mon  baron" 

"  Truth  to  tell,  abbe" ,  you  enter  my  presenV  sphere 
of  life  in  so  comet-like  or  meteoric  a  fashion  that  I 
am  a  little  afraid  of  you." 

"  Has  three  or  four  years  sufficed  to  do  avay  with 
all  the  old  system,  and  establish  a  new  one,  in  which  I 
have  no  place?"  asked  Despard  in  a  tone  of  real 
grief.  LeBaron  sadly  shook  his  head. 

"  I  had  hoped  so.  At  this  moment  I  am  not  sure. 
I  have  tried  hard  enough  to  forget." 

He  lapsed  into  gloomy  reverie ;  and  the  priest 
looked  at  him  with  curiosity  and  impatience,  trying  to 
gauge  as  rapidly  as  possible  the  changes  that  time  had 
wrought,  and  the  most  accessible  present  point  of 
approach.  At  last  he  said,  — 

"  My  friend,  I  have  one  distinct  errand  to  you.  In 
fact,  I  am  sent  as  part  of  my  penance  for  a  very 
serious  fault,  to  make  a  certain  acknowledgment  to 


298  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

you ;  and  this  would  have  brought  me,  even  without 
my  earnest  desire  to  see  you  once  more." 

"And  this  acknowledgment  is  "  — 

"Briefly  this.  I  told  you  in  Quebec  that  I  had 
not  married  you  to  Mary  Wilder." 

"  Yes  :  but  we  have  been  married  since." 

"  Not  by  a  priest,  not  in  a  church,  I  hope  !  " 

"  No,  by  a  magistrate." 

"  I  am  relieved,  for  the  sacrament  must  not  be  pro- 
faned by  repetition ;  and  you  were  really  married  by 
that  hasty  midnight  service,  garbled  and  shortened 
though  it  was." 

"And  did  you  know  it  when  you  tried  to  persuade 
me  to  turn  my  back  upon  my  wife,  and  return  to 
France  to  marry  another  woman?  "  asked  the  doctor 
sternly. 

"  No  :  at  least  I  was  uncertain ;  and  I  am  confident 
now,  as  I  was  then,  that  such  a  ceremony,  the  mar- 
riage not  being  consummated,  could  have  been  set 
aside  without  trouble.  But  still  it  was  a  marriage, 
consented  to  by  the  parties,  and  witnessed,  if  not 
regularly  conducted,  by  a  priest;  and  I  have  been 
severely  censured,  both  for  trifling  with  the  sacrament, 
and  for  leading  you  into  doubt  as  to  the  validity  of 
your  marriage.  You  will  pardon  me,  man  baron  ?  " 

"The  more  readily,  friend,  that  your  temptation 
never  took  hold  upon  my  will  for  an  instant.  The 
only  effect  of  the  doubt  you  suggested  was  to  make 
me  submit  very  gladly  to  the  civil  ceremony,  which 
was  desirable  at  any  rate  for  the  public  satisfaction." 

"  And  you  are  happily  married?  " 


DEAD    THINGS   THAT  WILL   NOT  SLEEP.     299 

"  Most  happily.  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  invite 
you  to  my  home  to  witness  my  felicity ;  but  my  wife 
would  recognize  you,  and  not  for  the  world  would 
I  let  her  suppose  the  dead  past  could  find  its  resur- 
rection in  her  home." 

"Does  no  ghost  from  out  those  early  years  ever 
confront  you,  then  ?  "  asked  the  priest  meaningly.  The 
doctor  laughed  somewhat  cynically,  and  replied,  — 

"  Well,  yes.  My  boy  is  the  image  of  my  father ;  and 
I  could  not  refrain  from  a  ban  mot  in  that  connection, 
whose  humor  has  hitherto  been  confined  to  my  own 
breast.  I  have  named  the  boy  Lazarus,  as  one  called 
from  what  I  fancied  a  sealed  tomb." 

"A  ghastly  jest,  and  not  too  reverent,  my  son," 
replied  the  priest  severely.  "  And  what  have  you  to 
say  upon  the  matter  of  religion?" 

"  Nothing,   man  fere,  except   that  I  am  no  rene- 


"  That  is  at  least  something,  and  I  have  news  for 
you  in  that  direction.  What  do  you  think  of  a  tiny 
yet  vigorous  shoot  of  the  venerable  faith  planted  even 
in  the  town  of  Boston,  that  stronghold  of  the  Puri- 
tans, those  schismatics  of  the  schismatical  Church  of 
England,  to  whom  the  altar  is  an  abomination,  and 
even  the  blessed  crucifix  a  mere  idolatrous  emblem  ?  " 

"  And  you  are  the  gardener  of  this  daring  bit  of 
transplantation?"  asked  LeBaron  sceptically. 

"  Under  God,  and  my  superiors  in  the  Church,  yes ; 
and  already  there  is  a  fair  and  promising  beginning. 
We  own  a  house,  and  in  that  house  is  a  chapel,  and 
to  that  chapel  resort  a  few  of  the  faithful,  whose  num 


3OO  A   NAMELESS  WOBLEMAtf. 

bers  shall  yet  increase ;  and  we  have  the  germ  of  a 
school  and  of  a  hospital  supported  by  the  willing 
work  and  ample  means  of  certain  Christian  ladies, 
not  regular  sisters  of  any  order,  but  devoted  for  a 
time  to  these  good  works." 

"But  is  this  allowed  in  Boston?" 

"  If  the  least  suspicion  of  our  tire  character  arose. 
I  suppose  neither  sex  nor  age  would  prevent  our  all 
being  hanged  beside  the  Quakers  who  were  execuied 
the  other  day  for  their  religious  opinions." 

"  Then  you  live  in  secrecy  and  constant  danger." 

"Yes.  Has  the  Church  ever  avoided  danger,  or 
counted  the  lives  of  her  servants  more  highly  than 
the  harvest  of  souls  they  may  gather  into  her  fold  ?  " 

"  It  is  true,  father ;  and  yet  these  people  among 
whom  I  live,  and  those  of  Boston  whom  I  know,  are 
a  God-fearing,  moral,  and  charitable  people.  Is  it  so 
needful  that  all  men  find  heaven  by  one  road?  Is 
there  not  a  gate  for  the  Gentiles  as  well  as  for  the 
Jews?" 

The  priest  started  from  his  chair  in  horror,  and, 
grasping  his  pupil  by  the  shoulder,  cried  in  a  voice  of 
unfeigned  emotion,  — 

"  My  son,  my  son,  it  had  been  less  grief  to  me  to 
see  you  in  your  coffin  than  to  have  heard  such  a  ques- 
tion from  your  lips  !  The  taint  of  heresy  has  cor- 
rupted a  soul  made  glorious  by  the  Lord  for  his  own 
service.  The  unbelieving  wife  hath  stolen  away  the 
faith  of  the  believing  husband  unequally  yoked  with 
her"  — 

"  Hold  there,  father  ! "  interposed  the  doctor  warn- 


DEAD   THINGS   rHAT  WILL  NOT  SLEEP.     301 

ingly.  "  Bring  no  third  person  into  this  matter  if  you 
would  hold  to  the  truth.  I  have  never  exchanged  a 
word  upon  the  question  of  religion  with  my  wife, 
since  she  was  my  wife ;  nor  do  I  deserve  the  censures 
you  are  so  ready  to  heap  upon  my  head.  It  is  true 
that  I  have  learned  toleration,  even  from  this  intol^r- 
aot  people,  who  could  far  less  easily  forgive  my  faith 
than  I  their  heresy ;  but  so  far  as  my  own  belief  goes, 
it  has  never  swerved  one  line,  one  hair's  breadth,  from 
that  which  you  yourself  taught  me  in  the  first  dawning 
of  my  reasoning  powers." 

"  Mon  baron,  will  you  give  me  proof  of  that  decla- 
ration?" 

"  My  word  needs  no  proof  to  establish  it ;  but  for 
old  affection's  sake  I  will  give  any  proof  within  reason, 
of  my  loyalty  to  the  Church." 

"  Then,  come  to  Boston  during  this  next  month,  and 
spend  a  day  and  night  at  our  mission-house." 

"  Gladly,  if  that  is  all ;  and  what  is  more,  you  shall 
confess  me,  and  I  will  hear  a  mass  and  receive  the 
sacrament  once  again." 

"  That  was  in  my  plan,  you  may  be  sure ;  and  now 
let  us  have  a  little  chat  upon  worldly  matters,  for  I 
leave  here  early  to-morrow  morning." 


3O2  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

A  CRUCIAL  TEST. 

IF  for  some  days  after  his  evening  visit  to  the 
Bunch  of  Grapes,  Dr.  LeBaron  was  a  little  more 
moody  and  silent  than  his  wont,  a  little  more  given  to 
late  sitting  over  his  books  and  papers  in  the  office,  or 
long  rides  over  the  sandy  and  desolate  country  roads, 
Molly  did  not  question  him  as  to  the  cause,  and  only 
contrived  to  make  the  house  and  her  own  society  the 
more  attractive  when  he  showed  a  desire  to  seek  them. 
The  baby-boy,  so  quaintly  named,  occupied  a  good 
deal  of  his  mother's  time  also ;  and  Molly  had  learned 
to  live  her  life  without  too  much  effort  at  understand- 
ing or  controlling  it,  so  that  her  husband  found  almost 
every  day  fresh  cause  for  admiration  and  appreciation 
of  the  love  that  could  let  the  beloved  object  alone, 
and  the  patience  that  was  neither  dullness  nor  sullen- 
ness.  One  day  he  came  to  her  as  she  sat  Booing  and 
laughing  to  the  child,  who,  fresh  from  his  bath,  was 
struggling  manfully  in  her  lap  against  the  primal  curse 
of  clothing,  hung  over  her  for  a  moment,  then,  with 
one  kiss  upon  her  lips  and  another  upon  the  cheek  ot 
little  Lazarus,  he  said, — 

"  Sweetheart,  I  am  going  to  Boston,  and  shall  not 
be  home  for  thr.ee  dqpg.     I  have  arranged  with  Hallo- 


A    CRUCIAL    TEST.  303 

well  about  my  patients,  and  sent  forward  one  of  the 
horses  to  the  Halfway  House,  so  I  shall  make  the 
journey  in  one  day  each  way,  and  be  home  on  Mon- 
day evening.  You  are  content? " 

"  Of  course,  Francois,  as  content  as  I  can  be  when 
you  are  not  beside  me.  You  might  have  let  me  pack 
some  clothes,  though." 

"I  have  all  I  wish  in  my  saddle-portmanteau;  so 
good-by,  love,  and  have  a  care  of  young  master." 

"I  shall  have  nothing  else  to  care  for  until  his 
father  comes  home,"  said  Molly,  hastily  wrapping  the 
child  in  a  blanket,  and  following  her  husband  to  the 
door,  where  his  great  black  horse,  called  Centaur, 
stood  pawing  and  neighing  in  his  impatience  to  be  off. 
The  doctor  mounted,  and,  turning  in  the  saddle  for  a 
last  good-by,  sat  for  a  moment  looking  in  loving  admi- 
ration at  the  mother  and  child  standing  in  the  dark 
doorway,  the  morning  sunshine  touching  the  red  lights 
of  her  bronze  hair  into  a  golden  aureole,  and  shining 
pleasantly  upon  her  calm  and  matronly  beauty,  the 
pure  and  steady  radiance  of  the  eyes  uplifted  to  hei 
husband's  face,  and  the  unconscious  grace  of  her 
stately  figure ;  in  her  arms  lay  the  noble  boy,  his  baby 
face  turned  with  grave  attention  upon  horse  and  rider, 
and  one  hand  masterfully  clutching  a  stray  lock  of  his 
mother's  hair.  A  fair  picture,  and  a  winsome  one, 
thought  Dr.  Francois  LeBaron,  loosening  the  rein,  and 
allowing  the  great  black  horse  to  launch  powerfully  for- 
ward ;  and  as  he  .ode  through  sun  and  shade,  the  pic- 
ture journeyed  with  him  over  sandy  plain,  and  fragrant 
pine-forest,  and  long  stretches  of  half-settled  country, 


304  A   AAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

until  at  noon  he  broke  his  fast  and  changed  his  horse 
at  the  little  inn  known  for  more  than  a  century  later 
as  the  Halfway  House  between  Plymouth  and  Boston. 

At  night  he  arrived  in  the  latter  town ;  and,  having 
placed  his  horse  in  the  stable  of  the  old  Exchange 
Coffee  House,  he  set  out  on  foot  to  find  the  place  to 
which  Father  Despard  had  directed  him.  But  this  was 
not  so  easy  a  matter  as  it  sounds  to  us  of  to-day :  for 
the  streets  were  neither  numbered  nor  lighted,  and 
many  of  them  not  even  named ,  so  that  it  was  not 
until  more  than  an  hour  of  rambling  through  the 
crowded  and  irregular  district  now  known  as  the 
North  End  of  Boston,  that  the  visitor  knocked  at 
the  door  of  a  large  house  standing  in  its  own  garden  a 
little  way  from  the  street,  and  so  dark  and  forlorn  in 
appearance  as  to  suggest  the  death  or  absence  of  every 
living  creature  within  its  walls. 

After  a  long  delay,  the  door  was  cautiously  opened 
so  far  as  an  inside  chain  would  allow,  by  a  man,  who 
gruffly  asked,  in  an  Irish  accent,  — 

"What's  your  will,  sir?" 

"Is  Master  Desmond  within?"  replied  the  visitor, 
using  the  alias  assumed  by  his  friend  while  dwelling  in 
the  camp  of  his  enemies. 

"I'll  see,  sir."  And,  leaving  the  door  unlatched 
but  chained,  the  servant  retreated,  and  soon  returned, 
followed  by  another  dimly-seen  figure,  who  civilly 
asked,— 

"Do  you  wish  to  see  me,  sir?  I  am  Master  Des- 
mond." 

"And  I,  Dr.  LeBaron,"  replied  the  guest. 


A    CRUCIAL    TEST.  305 

"  My  dear  friend,  is  it  really  you  ! "  exclaimed  the 
master  of  the  house,  letting  fall  the  chain,  and  throw- 
ing wide  the  door.  "  You  will  excuse  our  precautions, 
but"  — 

"Not  a  word,  not  a  word,  my  friend,"  interposed 
the  guest  heartily.  "I  understand  that  the  Church 
Militant  naturally  intrenches  herself,  and  "  — 

"  Hush,  my  dear  fellow,  not  a  word,  I  beg  of  you, 
until  we  are  safe  in  my  sanctum  !  To  be  sure,  Patrick 
O'Donoghue,  who  opened  the  door  to  you,  is  stanch 
and  loyal,  an  importation  of  my  own  from  his  native 
Ireland ;  but  one  never  knows  —  walls  have  ears  :  but 
here  we  are,  as  safe  as  in  the  Quirinal."  He  opened 
the  door  of  a  small  room,  only  to  be  approached 
through  two  others,  and  displayed  a  cosey  retreat, 
warmed  and  lighted  in  this  chill  October  evening  by  a 
small  wood  fire,  and  well  supplied  with  books,  com- 
fortable furniture,  and  a  round  table  covered  with  the 
preparations  for  supper. 

"  I  am  just  in  time,  it  seems,"  said  LeBaron,  smiling, 
and  rubbing  his  hands.  "  I  remember  that  as  no  one 
knew  how  to  fast  more  rigidly  than  yourself,  abbe',  so 
no  one  better  understood  how  to  feast,  or  could 
manage  to  do  so  on  more  slender  materials." 

"  You  flatter  me,  my  son ;  and  yet  why  should  not 
Religious  study  how  best  to  utilize  the  abundant  gift 
of  Providence  ?    Do  you  remember  the  ragout  I  once 
made  from  an  amiable  and  unfortunate  cat  when  we 
were  upon  our  retreat  into  Canada?  " 

"  Do  I  not  ?  And  the  soup  from  the  bones  the 
farmer's  wife  had  thrown  out  her  back  door." 


306  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Yes.  But  here  comes  Patrick  with  our  supper ; 
and  here  is  Father  Pinot,  my  coadjutor  and  assistant, 
who  will  be  glad  to  see  you  after  having  heard  so 
much  of  you." 

The  younger  priest,  a  vivacious  and  agreeable  com- 
panion, bowed  courteously :  a  short  Latin  grace  was 
said,  and  the  three  men  sat  down.  It  was  years  since 
LeBaron  had  found  himself  so  nearly  in  his  native  ele- 
ment as  to-night;  and  he  abandoned  himself  to  an 
hour  of  convivial  enjoyment  very  different  from  the 
staid  feasts  at  which  he  was  often  called  to  assist  in 
the  town  of  his  adoption,  or  even  from  the  pleasant  but 
simple  and  brief  meals  at  which  he  and  Molly  sat 
habitually  in  their  own  house.  Here  the  cookery  was 
delicate  and  refined,  purely  French  in  its  character, 
and  accompanied  by  French  wines ;  the  service  was 
admirable ;  and  the  two  priests,  laying  aside  for  the 
moment  all  that  is  severe  or  ascetic  in  their  profession, 
showed  themselves  in  the  light  of  cultivated  and  expe- 
rienced citizens  of  the  world,  quick,  witty,  apt  at  quo- 
tation or  allusion,  and  with  a  range  of  conversation 
not  to  be  found  among  more  quiet  and  homely  folk. 
It  was  even  a  luxury  for  LeBaron  to  speak  freely  in  his 
native  language :  for  his  English,  although  scholarly 
and  sufficiently  fluent,  was  always  a  little  formal,  and 
often  spoken  with  consciousness  of  the  effort  at  men^ 
tal  translation;  for  it  is  a  rare  and  ultimate  stage 
in  Ihe  acquirement  of  a  foreign  tongue  when  one's 
thoughts  shape  themselves  to  its  idioms,  and  Dr. 
LeBaron  never  fully  reached  it. 

A  clock  upon  the  mantle  struck  the  half-hour  aftef 


A   CRUCIAL    TEST.  307 

eight ;  and  Father  Pinot,  glancing  at  his  superior,  grew 
suddenly  grave  and  silent.  Despard  nodded  slightly, 
and  pushed  back  his  chair. 

"You  will  join  us  in  the  chapel  for  compline,  at 
nine  o'clock ;  will  you  not,  doctor?  "  asked  he  of  hi3 
guest,  who  had  begged  him  to  use  no  title  but  this. 

"  With  pleasure,  if  you  will  show  me  the  way  thith- 
er," replied  he,  rising  from  the  table. 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  time  yet !  Father  Pinot  and  I  have 
some  preparation  to  make ;  and  it  is  our  rule  not  to 
allow  any  festivity  to  exceed  an  hour's  time.  If  you 
will  remain  here,  and  amuse  yourself  with  a  book,  Pat- 
rick shall  summon  you  at  nine,  or  a  few  moments 
earlier." 

The  priests  left  the  room ;  and  LeBaron,  not  caring 
to  read  just  then,  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and 
sat  staring  into  the  fire,  his  mind  filled  with  chaotic 
thoughts,  memories,  and  associations,  until  a  touch 
upon  his  shoulder  and  Patrick's  rich  Milesian  accents 
recalled  him  to  the  moment  and  the  occasion.  Fol- 
lowing the  man  through  a  passage,  opening  behind 
one  ol  the  bookcases,  he  presently  found  himself  in  a 
small  and  richly  ornamented  chapel,  cunningly  devised, 
as  he  afterward  found,  to  appear  from  the  outside  like 
a  rough  addition  to  the  house,  without  windows  or 
exterior  doors.  Quite  half  this  room,  divided  from  the 
rest  by  a  light  bronze  screen  or  railing,  was  occupied 
by  the  altar  and  chancel,  within  which  stood  the  two 
priests,  attended  by  a  boy-acolyte  who  was  busily 
lighting  a  censer  in  a  little  sacristy  opening  into  the 
chancel.  Outside  the  screen,  with  LeBaron,  knelt 


308  A   NAtoKtESS  NOBLEMAN. 

Patrick  and  several  women  dressed  in  semi-religious 
robes,  their  heads  covered  by  veils. 

The  service  began ;  and  as  the  words  and  intona- 
tions familiar  to  his  childhood  and  youth  fell  upon  the 
ears  of  the  guest,  as  the  odor  of  incense  reached  his 
nostrils  accompanied  by  the  silvery  clank  of  the  chains 
of  the  censer,  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and, 
bowing  his  head,  wondered  if  this  were  indeed  a  vivid 
dream,  or  if  it  were  not  rather  true  that  the  past 
bleak,  bitter  years  of  exile  had  been  the  dream,  and 
this  was  reality. 

From  this  reverie  he  was  roused  by  the  softly- 
chanted  strains  of  the  vesper  hymn  in  which  he  had 
joined  so  many  times  at  Montarnaud ;  and,  listening 
eagerly  without  raising  his  head,  he  seemed  to  hear 
again  the  pure  and  penetrating  tones  of  the  voice  with 
which  his  had  so  loved  to  chime  in  those  not-yet-for- 
gotten years,  —  that  voice  so  peculiar  in  its  timbre,  so 
deadly  sweet  in  its  fearless  heights,  so  caressing  in  its 
depths,  that  when  Molly  Wilder  first  sang  to  him  in 
the  lonely  sea-side  farmhouse,  his  greatest  pleasure  in 
hearing  her  had  been  that  no  tone  of  her  voice  resem- 
bled that  voice.  And  now  it  seemed  close  beside  him : 
its  subtle  charm  piercing  his  very  brain,  and  sending 
the  blood  tingling  from  heart  to  finger-tips  and  back 
again  with  sickening  force  and  tumult 

"  Ave  Maria,  Maria  sanctissima  I 
Ora  pro  nobis,  ora  pro  me  I " 

sang  the  voice \  and  surely  it  was  no  vision,  no  mem- 
ory, that  could  sigh  out  the  familiar  words  in  that 


A   CRUCIAL    TEST.  309 

tender,  loving  tone,  so  vividly  recalled,  so  never  to  be 
forgotten.  Slowly  and  unwillingly  LeBaron  lifted  his 
head,  and  looked  toward  the  little  group  of  women 
kneeling  at  the  other  extremity  of  the  screen;  but 
the  veils  hid  all  the  faces,  and  even  the  outline  of  the 
head  and  shoulders  :  and,  as  the  last  words  of  the  hymn 
died  upon  the  fragrant  air,  all  bowed  low  their  heads, 
awaiting  the  benediction. 

When  LeBaron  raised  his,  he  was  alone,  except 
for  the  servant  who  stood  patiently  awaiting  him.  Fol- 
lowing, without  noticing  that  it  was  through  another 
passage  than  that  by  which  he  had  entered  the  chapel, 
LeBaron  presently  found  himself  in  a  small  and  dimly- 
lighted  room,  where  beside  a  marble  figure  of  the  Ma- 
donna stood  a  veiled  woman ;  her  black  robes  con- 
trasting vividly  with  the  cold  whiteness  of  the  statue 
upon  which  she  leaned  as  if  for  protection  and  confi- 
dence As  the  disturbed  and  already  suspicious  visit- 
or stood  looking  at  her,  while  the  door  silently  closed 
behind  him,  the  woman  swiftly  advanced  a  step,  and 
knelt  at  his  feet,  throwing  back  her  veil  as  she  did  so, 
and  lifting  her  beautiful,  passionate  face  to  his  in 
mute  and  anguished  appeal  for  pity  and  forgiveness. 

LeBaron  started,  and  quivered  all  through  his  form, 
as  quivers  the  lion  when  the  hunter's  spear  reaches  his 
heart ;  but  he  did  not  speak,  and  it  was  she  who  pres- 
ently murmured,  — 

"  Francois  !  Have  not  you  one  word  for  me,  after 
all  these  years?" 

"  What  word,  Valerie  ?  What  is  to  be  said  between 
as  two?" 


310  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"Forgiveness.  I  betrayed  and  denied  you  when 
you  had  the  right  to  expect  my  loyalty." 

"  It  is  forgiven  long  ago." 

"  Forgiven  coldly  and  formally,  but  not  forgiven  as 
you  used  to  forgive  my  faults,  Francois  !  Not  for- 
gotten." 

"  Yes,  —  forgotten." 

"  Your  voice  does  not  sound  so,  Francois ;  and  I 
know  every  tone  of  the  voice  for  whose  sound  I  have 
so  longed,  so  pined." 

"Yes,  forgotten,  Valerie,  but  not  easily.  You  and 
your  falseness  became  indissolubly  one  in  my  memory, 
and  to  forget  one  I  was  obliged  to  banish  both." 

"  And  I  am  forgotten  ! " 

The  words  wailed  out  upon  the  quiet  air  like  the 
cry  of  the  spirit  denied  the  entrance  to  Paradise,  and 
LeBaron  felt  a  great  and  terrible  pity  stealing  over  his 
heart.  Involuntarily  his  hand  extended  itself  toward 
that  bowed  head,  and  words  of  gentlest  soothing  rose 
to  his  lips ;  but  with  a  mighty  effort  he  folded  his  arms 
across  his  breast,  and,  moving  a  step  away,  said  gently 
and  coldly, — 

"Pray  rise  and  seat  yourself,  Valerie.  I  have  al- 
ready assured  you  of  my  forgiveness  if  you  care  to 
have  it ;  and,  as  my  brother's  wife  and  widow,  I  may 
think  of  you  with  interest  and  well-wishing.  All  else 
was  ended  for  us  when  I  left  France." 

"  Say,  rather,  when  you  fell  in  love  with  another 
woman  ! "  exclaimed  Valerie,  springing  to  her  feet,  and 
confronting  him  passionately.  "  For,  after  all,  it  is  only 
you  who  have  been  false  to  our  early  love :  I  never 


A   CRUCIAL   TEST.  $11 

pretended  to  love  Gaston,  I  never  pretended  to  have 
forgotten  you." 

"Do  not  make  a  boast  of  it,  madame,"  replied 
LeBaron  sternly.  "  If  you  married  a  man  consciously 
loving  another,  and  then  cherished  the  love  your  own 
act  had  made  guilty,  let  shame  keep  you  silent  upon 
both  scores." 

"  Francois  !  Francois  !  Have  you  no  pity?  And  I 
have  wearied  so  for  one  look,  one  word ;  and  now  you 
are  so  cruel ! " 

"It  is  you,  Valerie,  who  are  cruel  to  both  of  us. 
Child  !  Do  you  suppose  my  heart  is  ice  or  stone  ?  By 
this  day's  work  you  have  destroyed  for  me  the  quiet 
of  months,  years  perhaps.  Cruel !  What  cruelty 
could  you  have  devised,  had  you  been  my  bitterest 
foe,  more  subtle  than  thus  to  come,  and  with  every 
accessory  of  our  purest  and  best  association,  force 
back  upon  my  memory  and  my  heart  the  images,  the 
feelings,  the  bereavements,  that  I  have  spent  years  in 
uprooting  and  throwing  aside,  though  in  doing  so  I 
have  shaken  my  nature  to  its  depths  ?  It  is  you  who 
have  shown  yourself  cruel,  insensate,  selfish." 

"You  still  love  me,  then,  since  I  can  make  you 
suffer  !  O  Francois  I " 

And,  gliding  to  his  side,  she  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
folded  arms,  and  looked  up  in  his  face,  her  eyes 
humid,  her  lips  parted,  the  subtle  fragrance  of  her 
hair  and  dress  floating  around  her  in  an  atmosphere 
of  intoxicating  languor.  He  did  not  move  hand  nor 
foot ;  nor,  though  his  face  grew  deadly  pale,  did  his 
eyes  flinch  from  the  full  regard  of  hers-  At  last  he 


312  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Love  you,  Valerie  de  Montarnaud  !  Love  you ! 
There  is  not  a  woman  on  earth  whom  it  would  be  so 
impossible  for  me  to  love." 

"Ohl" 

"Yes,  it  hurts  you;  and  I  am  sorry  to  pain  you. 
There  are  not  even  in  my  heart  those  poor  dregs  of 
love  that  make  us  enjoy  the  pang  we  can  inflict  upon 
her  who  has  deceived  and  betrayed  us.  I  do  not 
even  hate  you,  Valerie  :  after  this,  I  do  not  even  care 
to  avoid  you.  I  thank  you  for  the  work  of  this  last 
five  minutes;  for  you  have  put  forth  all  your  art  to 
re-kindle  the  fire  whose  ashes  I  had  feared  to  disturb, 
and  you  have  shown  me  that  they  are  wholly  cold  and 
dead.  Are  you  content?" 

"  Content !  "  repeated  Madame  de  Montarnaud  in 
a  tone  of  withering  scorn,  "  yes,  for  I  see  that  your 
peasant  wife  has  dragged  you  utterly  down  to  her  own 
level.  I  cannot  love  a  man  who  is  no  longer  a  gentle- 
man." 

"  If  it  soothes  your  mortification  to  speak  dispara- 
gingly of  me,  you  are  very  welcome  to  do  so,  madame. 
As  to  my  wife,  it  is  better  that  you  should  not  speak  of 
her  at  all ;  since  she  is  a  woman  far  above  your  com- 
prehension, very  far  above  my  deserts.  Pure  as  the 
angels,  true  as  light,  unselfish  and  devoted  and  loving, 
and  with  a  strong,  brave  heart  that  only  needs  to  know 
the  right  to  follow  it,  she  is  not  of  those  among 
whom  you  chose  your  life,  madame,  nor  have  you  the 
ability  to  gauge  her.  But  with  her,  and  with  her 
child,  lie  all  my  hopes  in  the  future,  all  my  joy  in  the 
present;  for  I  love  and  trust  her  as  I  never  could 


A   CRUCIAL    TEST.  313 

have  loved  and  trusted  you,  Valerie,  even  had  you 
been  true  to  me." 

He  left  the  room,  nor  did  she  seek  to  detain  him. 
In  the  study  he  found  Father  Despard,  who  waited  for 
him  with  ill- concealed  anxiety.  LeBaron  looked  at 
him  sternly  and  reproachfully. 

"  What  was  the  motive  of  your  plot  ?  "  asked  he, 
leaning  upon  the  mantel,  and  looking  down  upon  the 
priest,  who  sat  designedly  in  the  shade. 

"  Simply  this,  my  son,"  replied  he  fluently :  "  I  am 
in  this  place  as  a  propagandist :  my  only  motive  is  the 
nurture  and  spread  of  our  holy  faith  in  this  new 
country.  Madame  de  Montarnaud  is  also  absorbed, 
body  and  soul,  in  this  good  work ;  and  it  is  her  money 
which  largely  supports  the  mission.  Now,  you  are  the 
heir,  after  her  child,  of  most  of  her  property ;  and  it  is 
certainly  desirable  that  you  should  be  consulted  as  to 
its  disposition.  Again,  you  are  a  Catholic,  detached 
from  the  influences  and  rites  of  the  Church;  and 
it  is  most  desirable  that  you  should  be  led  to  join 
with  us  who  represent  her,  however  feebly,  and  should 
be  brought  into  charity  and  sympathy  with  your  fellow- 
laborers.  Now,  Madame  de  Montarnaud  felt  that  you 
were  not  in  charity  with  her,  and  fancied  that  by  a 
personal  interview  your  differences  might  be  adjusted. 
I  knew,  that,  if  I  warned  you  of  her  presence,  you 
would  not  visit  me ;  and  I  consented  to  this  little  ruse, 
by  wlu'ch  I  brought  together  two  of  my  children,  tern 
porarily  estranged,  and  joined  them  once  more  as  r.o- 
laborers  in  the  holy  cause  which  must  tct  all  of  us  be 
so  much  dearer  than  any  personal  prejudices  or  wishes. 
Was  I  wrong,  my  dear  pupil? " 


314  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  If  your  explanation  is  perfectly  sincere,  father,  1 
should  say  that  you  were  not  so  much  wrong  as  -  • 
pardon  me  —  stupid ;  and  that,  I  had  never  supposed 
to  be  one  of  your  failings.  You  probably  knew  be- 
forehand, as  well  as  I  know  now,  the  nature  of  the 
explanation  likely  to  ensue  between  Madame  de  Mont- 
arnaud  and  myself;  and  had  not  my  heart  been 
guarded  by  a  very  vivid  and  very  honest  love  for  my 
wife,  I  can  hardly  tell  the  extent  of  the  mischief 
likely  to  have  sprung  from  your  amiable  and  innocent 
.ittle  device.  As  it  is,  no  harm  is  done,  unless,  —  and 
it  would  be  an  odd  bit  of  retributive  justice  on  your 
head,  mon  pere,  —  unless  Madame  de  Montarnaud 
finds  her  zeal  for  mission-work  suddenly  cooled,  and 
goes  back  to  France,  carrying  her  money  with 
ner." 

"  H'm  ! "  ejaculated  the  priest  starting  a  little,  but 
after  a  moment  re-settling  himself  placidly  as  he  re- 
plied,- 

"  Fore-warned  is  fore-armed,  my  son.  I  will  terrify 
madame  by  letting  her  see  that  I  dimly  suspect  a 
motive  in  her  zeal  which  she  has  never  dared  to 
confess  to  -Tie." 

"  And  now,  father,  I  will  to  bed :  we  will  have  a 
long  talk  to-morrow  after  mass;  and  I  shall  set  out 
upon  my  journey  home  as  soon  as  sunset  allows  me 
to  travel,  —  as  soon  as  Sunday  is  over,  that  is." 

"What,  you  yield  to  these  Puritan  edicts  1"  ex- 
claimed the  priest  contemptuously. 

"  If  I  did  not,  I  should  taste  Puritan  discipline," 
replied  the  doctor  tranquilly:  "besides,  father,  you 


A    CRUCIAL    TEST.  315 

must  remember,  as  I  have  just  been  telling  Madame 
de  Montarnaud,  that  this  land  is  now  my  land,  and 
this  people  my  people." 

"  But  never  their  God  your  God,  I  hope,  my  son," 
replied  the  priest  solemnly. 

"Is  there,  then,  more  than  one  God,  my  father?" 
•sked  LeBaron  significantly. 


316  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE  BELLE  ISLE. 

AND  so  the  years  went  softly  on  in  the  quaint 
town  beside  the  sea,  until  Lazarus  LeBaron  was 
a  fine,  stout  lad  of  thirteen  years,  with  his  father's 
stalwart  Norman  figure,  and  his  mother's  calm  and 
steadfast  eyes.  And  still  it  was  Time  the  Perfecter,' 
and  not  Time  the  Destroyer,  that  left  his  mark  upon' 
Molly  LeBaron's  face  and  form,  changing  her  girlish 
comeliness  to  the  stately  beauty  of  her  matronhood, 
giving  through  the  expansion  of  the  mind,  and  greater 
intelligence  of  the  feelings,  depth  to  the  eyes,  mobility 
to  the  mouth,  and  a  greater  range  of  inflection  to  the 
voice;  while  the  peaceful  an"i  regular  life,  the  calm 
temper,  and  constant  sunshine  of  her  home,  con- 
served the  delicacy  of  her  complexion,  the  youthful 
roundness  of  her  outlines,  and  the  smoothness  of  her 
brow. 

So  thought  her  husband,  idly  watching  her  as  she 
moved  around  the  room  arranging  little  matters, 
flecking  away  specks  of  dust,  painting  the  lily  of  spot- 
less cleanliness  with  yet  an  added  lustre. 

"Yes,  doctor,"  she  was  saying,  "I  really  think  a 
voyage  would  do  you  great  good.  You  have  been  so 
overworked  through  this  sickly  September ;  and,  at  any 


THE  BELLE  ISLE.  317 

rate,  our  cruel  winters  always  tell  upon  you.  Remem- 
ber the  cough  you  had  last  year  "  — 

"  Yes ;  I  took  cold  when  I  was  six  years  old,  and 
that  was  the  result,"  interposed  LeBaron,  in  the  grave, 
quizzical  tone  in  which  he  met  so  many  of  his  wife's 
solicitudes,  and  to  which  she  now  dryly  replied,  — 

"  I  dare  say.  It  was  unfortunate ;  but  still,  now  that 
you  have  so  good  a  chance  to  make  a  trip  to  the 
Havana  and  back,  and  cost  you  nothing,  for  Capt. 
Pinot  said  before  that  he  would  take  you  at  any  time 
for  the  pleasure  of  your  company  "  — 

"  Ay,  but,  my  dear,  Capt.  Pinot  never  had  my  com- 
pany long  enough  to  find  out  that  there  is  no  pleasure 
in  it.  Would  you  have  me  cheat  the  worthy  mari- 
ner?" 

"  Ah,  Francis  !  don't  torment  me,  when  I'm  trying 
to  persuade  thee  to  do  thyself  a  service,  and  not  to 
think  of  how  I'll  miss  thee,  dear."  And  throwing 
down  the  duster,  Molly  came,  and,  crouching  at  her 
husband's  side,  laid  her  folded  hands  upon  his  breast, 
and  raised  her  fair  face  to  his  with  an  irresistible  ges- 
ture of  entreaty  and  devotion.  LeBaron  stooped,  and 
kissed  her  tenderly,  then  smoothing  away  the  hair 
from  her  brow,  looked  long  and  earnestly  into  the 
clear,  good  eyes  steadfastly  upraised  to  his.  It  was  a 
minute  or  two  before  either  spoke ;  and  then  he  said 
very  gently,  — 

"  Molly,  thou'rt  a  fair  woman,  and  better  than  that 
thou'rt  a  good  woman,  and  strong  and  brave  as  thou 
art  sweet.  I  would  I  were  a  better  man  for  thy  sake, 
dear  wife." 


318  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

A  lovely  morning  glow  stole  over  the  noonday 
beauty  of  the  upturned  face ;  and  then  it  hid  itself  upon 
his  breast,  and  the  arms  crept  up  around  his  neck,  and 
never  A  word  came  from  the  fond  tremulous  lips,  and 
nevei  a  word  was  needed. 

Tht  door  was  suddenly  thrown  open ;  and  a  bright, 
handsome  boy  stood  on  the  threshold,  opened  his  eyes 
a  little  at  the  unwonted  sight,  yet  with  the  tact  of  all  the 
Montirnauds  went  straight  on  with  his  message  as  if 
he  saw  nothing :  — 

"  Father,  Capt.  Pinot  has  come  ashore,  and  bid  me 
ask  if  you  would  come  off  to  the  '  Belle  Isle '  to  see  a 
passenger  of  his,  a  gentleman,  too  ill  to  come  ashore,  — 
A  nobleman,  and  very  rich." 

"Yet  not  noble  enough  nor  rich  enough  to  keep 
himself  in  health,  nor  cure  himself  when  ill,"  remarked 
the  doctor,  always  on  the  lookout  to  cut  down  any 
aristocratic  weeds  springing  in  his  son's  character. 

"  No ;  but  the  captain  spoke  as  if  he  were  a  rery 
great  man,  and  he's  not  over  civil  generally." 

"  Hah  !  Very  great — that  might  mean  dropsy ;  and 
not  over  civil  —  that  may  be  spleen,"  said  the  doctor 
musingly,  as  he  stepped  into  the  office,  and  changed 
his  coat  and  shoes.  Lazarus  colored  a  little,  but 
glanced  at  his  mother,  whose  calm  eyes  were  fixed  on 
his,  and  remained  silent. 

"Come  to  the  wharf  with  me,  my  boy,"  said  the 
doctor  presently  emerging.  "  Perhaps  you  can  in- 
dulge in  the  dear  delight  of  going  off  to  the  brig." 

"That's  what  I  like  ! "  exclaimed  the  lad  gayly ;  and 
down  the  steep  of  Leyden  Street  they  went,  and  along 


THE  BELLE  ISLE.  319 

the  wharf  past  Pilgrim  Rock,  distinctly  recognized  but 
not  specially  honored  in  those  early  days,  to  where  the 
captain's  gig,  manned  by  two  sturdy  Jack  Tars,  lay 
tossing  up  and  down  on  the  gay  October  waves. 

The  captain  himself,  a  bluff  yet  civil  Breton,  stood 
impatiently  watching  the  doctor's  approach,  and,  after 
a  hearty  grasp  of  the  hand,  and  greeting  in  the  foreign 
yet  fluent  English  necessary  to  his  traffic,  gestured 
toward  the  boat,  saying,  — 

"  Let  us  go  then,  let  us  go  !  This  monsigneur  of 
a  passenger  of  mine  is  in  such  a  thousand  devils  of  a 
hurry  always.  Will  young  master  go  aboard?  It  is 
most  admirable.  Quick,  then.  Oars  ! " 

"So  your  passenger  is  ill.  Is  it  of  the  sea? "  asked 
the  doctor  tranquilly,  as  the  boat  shot  away  from  the 
wharf,  and  pursued  a  course,  very  like  that  of  a  rocking 
horse,  toward  the  brig. 

"  Not  altogether,"  replied  the  captain,  lowering  his 
voice  to  a  confidential  tone.  "He  is  old  and  very 
rich,  and  he  once  was  young  and  very  rich ;  and  one 
naturally  pays  in  one's  latter  years  for  the  gayeties  of 
ones  earlier  years  if  one  has  been  immoderate." 

"  You  are  a  philosopher,  captain." 

"  Well,  one  sees  the  world  as  one  travels  around  it ; 
and  one  finds  time  for  thinking  between  Bordeaux  or 
Marseilles  and  Boston  or  Plymouth." 

"  It  is  true,  my  friend.     And  our  invalid's  jame  ? : 

"  The  Marquis  de  Vieux." 

"  I  don't  like  marquises,  they're  unlucky  to  me," 
muttered  the  doctor  rapidly ;  but  Lazarus  heard  him, 
and  remembered  the  words  later. 


320  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  And  he's  going  to  Hayti,  is  he  ?  " 

"  Yes  :  he  has  great  estates  there,  and  has  made  up 
his  mind  that  the  climate  of  the  tropics  is  just  what  he 
needs  to  make  him  a  boy  again.  Expects  to  find  the 
fountain  of  youth,  you  know,  doctor." 

And  the  worthy  Pinot  laughed  uproariously  at  his 
own  jest,  but  sobered  sufficiently  to  whisper  just  as  the 
boat  grazed  the  brig's  quarter, — 

"  Better  be  a  little  careful  with  your  patient,  doctor  : 
he  has  the  devil's  own  temper,  but  he's  enormously 
rich,  and  can  afford  it.  Why,  there's  enough  gold  and 
silver  in  one  shape  and  another  aboard  here  to  buy  up 
yon  little  town  of  Plymouth  altogether." 

"  My  good  Pinot,  you  mistake,"  replied  LeBaron 
quietly.  "  There  is  not  enough  to  buy  even  the  poor 
doctor  of  Plymouth." 

An  hour  later  Dr.  LeBaron,  pale,  silent,  and  ab- 
stracted, descended  the  side  of  the  "  Belle  Isle,"  and 
was  rowed  ashore  without  speaking  a  word.  As  he 
and  his  son  climbed  the  steep  street  toward  home, 
however,  he  stopped,  and,  with  a  hand  upon  the  boy's 
shoulder,  turned  to  gaze  thoughtfully  down  at  the 
French  brig  gently  tossing  upon  the  incoming  tide, 
and  from  that  upon  the  bright  face  of  the  lad  turned 
wistfully  up  toward  him.  But,  educated  in  the  strict 
discipline  of  the  age,  Lazarus  asked  no  question  until 
his  father,  smiling  in  his  grave  way,  said,  — 

"Well,  boy,  what  is  it?" 

"  I  don't  know,  father ;  only  I  wish  the  'Belle  Isle ' 
had  not  put  in  at  our  harbor  this  trip." 

"  Say  you  so,  Lazarus,  say  you  so  1 "  exclaimed  his 


THE  BELLE  ISLE.  321 

father  in  a  tone  more  thoughtful  than  the  boy's  words 
seemed  to  warrant.  They  walked  on  in  silence ;  but 
just  at  the  angle  of  the  hill,  before  reaching  home,  the 
doctor  again  laid  hand  upon  the  boy's  arm,  and 
asked,— 

"  Lazarus,  art  man  enough  to  care  for  thy  mother 
and  the  home  affairs  some  three  months  or  maybe 
four?" 

"  I'd  try,  father." 

"Why,  that's  thy  mother's  own  boy.  'I'll  try' 
means  more  with  her,  and  maybe  with  her  son,  than 
the  strongest '  I  will '  of  most  others.  Go  now,  we'll 
look  for  thee  at  dinner-time." 

In  the  pleasant  sitting-room,  with  the  door  open  to 
the  office  so  that  she  could  see  the  doctor's  leathern 
arm-chair  beside  the  garden  window,  sat  Molly  sewing 
busily,  and  softly  singing  one  of  the  psalms  with  which 
St.  Paul  bade  men  make  merry.  Her  husband,  coming 
in,  stood  for  a  moment  to  watch  her,  then  seating  him- 
self, and  trifling  with  her  work-basket,  said,  — 

"  And  so  you  think,  Mistress  Molly,  that  I  had  bet- 
ter go  to  Hayti  in  the  '  Belle  Isle  '  ?  " 

Molly  grew  pale,  and  the  psalm  died  off  her  lips ; 
but  raising  a  brave  face,  she  replied  in  a  voice  as 
brave,  — 

"Yes,  Francis:  it  will  be  for  your  health,  I  am 
sure." 

"  But  what  then  if  I  stay  four  months,  until  Febru- 
ary we  will  say?" 

"  Four  months,  Francis  !    Is  it  best  for  you  to  do 

80?" 


322  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  That  is  for  Molly  to  say.  There  is  a  sick  old  man 
on  board  the  'Belle  Isle,'  sick  and  whimsical,  and 
very  rich.  He  is  all  alone  but  for  two  servants,  and 
he  has  quarrelled  with  all  his  kith  and  kin.  He  is 
going  to  his  estates  in  Hayti,  and  he  will  die  there 
before  spring :  that  is  a  confidence,  my  wife." 

"  You  needed  not  to  tell  me  so,"  said  Molly  proud- 
ly ;  but  her  husband  only  tapped  her  lightly  on  the 
cheek,  a  favorite  caress,  and  went  on. 

"Well,  this  droll  old  gentleman,  who  calls  himself,  I 
know  not  what,  marquis  I  believe,  has  taken,  at  first 
sight,  so  violent  a  fancy  to  the  poorhouse  doctor  of 
Plymouth  Colony,  that  he  must  have  him  to  go  on  the 
voyage,  and  establish  him  on  the  estates.  That  would 
take  two'  months  or  so ;  and,  as  I  foresee  that  he  will 
find  himself  altogether  worse  so  soon  as  he  leaves  the 
sea,  he  will  cling  to  me  as  the  last  hope ;  and,  if  there 
is  no  other  physician  at  hand,  I  can  hardly  leave  him 
just  at  once.  So  we  must  put  the  absence  at  three 
to  four  months ;  and  my  marquis  of  Carrabas  will  give 
me  in  advance,  here  in  my  hand,  Molly,  three  hun- 
dred louis  d'or,  equal  to  three  hundred  pounds  ster- 
ling,—  as  much  money  as  I  can  earn  in  this  dear 
Plymouth  of  ours  in  three  years,  even  reckoning  the 
ten  pounds  by  the  year  for  the  care  of  the  poorhouse." 

"  I  have  seen  for  a  long  time,  Francis,  that  you  were 
rhafing  at  your  narrow  bounds ;  yet  do  not  mock  at 
the  home  where  we  have  been  so  happy."  And  just  a 
little  tinge  of  resentment  colored  the  wife's  cheek,  and 
rang  through  her  gentle  voice.  LeBaron  looked  keenly 
it  her,  and  laughed  in  an  unmirthful  fashion. 


THE  BELLE  ISLE.  323 

"You  answer  your  own  mind,  and  not  my  words, 
wife,"  said  he.  "Well,  what  think  you  of  my  lord 
marquis  of  Carrabas  and  his  three  hundred  pounds?" 

"  I  think  you  will  go  with  him." 

"  Nay,  then,  by  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar,  my 
Grizel,  I  will  not  go  with  such  a  sending." 

"  How,  what,  —  what  do  you  mean,  Francis  ?  " 

"  Why,  such  a  patient  face,  and  such  a  mournful 
voice,  and  such  an  air  of  resignation."  And  LeBaron, 
half  vexed,  stood  looking  down  at  Molly  half  wounded ; 
and  neither  spoke,  until  Desire,  showing  a  flushed  face 
at  the  door,  inquired,  — 

"Is  the  doctor  at  home?  Well,  then,  shall  I  put 
dinner  on,  and  be  done  with  it  early?  " 

"  Yes,  if  it  is  ready,  and  you  are  ready,  doctor," 
said  the  mistress  in  a  tone  of  relief;  and  so  they  sat 
down,  and  before  the  meal  was  over  Molly  cheerfully 
said,  "  I  must  be  busy  now  in  looking  over  your  sum- 
mer clothes,  my  dear,  and  seeing  what  else  you  need. 
It  will  be  all  summer  in  Hayti,  I  suppose." 

"  It  is  the  best  of  summers  where  you  are,  sweet," 
replied  her  husband ;  and  so  the  question  was  decided. 

Four  days  later  the  "  Belle  Isle  "  sailed  out  past 
the  Gurnet ;  and  Lazarus,  standing  beside  his  mother 
on  Burying  Hill  to  watch  the  old  brig  out  of  sight, 
suddenly  inquired, — 

"Why  did  father  say  marquises  were  unlucky  to 
him,  mother?  What  is  a  marquis? " 

"  I  think  they  are  more  unlucky  to  us  than  to  him, 
Lazarus,"  replied  Molly,  turning  with  a  sigh  to  go 
down  to  the  village  where  already  the  shadows  lay 
cold  and  dark. 


324  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

MARQUISES  ARE  UNLUCKY  TO  ME. 

THE  packet  is  in  from  Boston,  mother ;  and  now 
sure  there  will  be  a  letter  from  father,  won't 
there  ? "  and  Lazarus,  standing  close  at  his  mother's 
side,  kissed  the  glossy  head  so  often  drooping  as  now 
over  the  work  in  her  lap.  She  looked  up  eagerly 
enough  at  his  words,  and  answered  with  a  smile,  — 

"  God  send  it  may  be  so,  my  boy  !  Almost  three 
months,  and  the  '  Belle  Isle '  never  heard  fom." 

"  But  then  you  know  Capt.  Pi  not  did  not  mean  to 
make  this  port  on  his  return  voyage,  mother." 

"No;  but  I  thought  we  should  hear.  Well,  —  it 
•nay  be  now.  Go  down  to  the  wharf,  Lazarus,  and 
ee  if  tho  mail-bag  has  come  ashore." 

"  Kiss  une,  mother,  before  I  go." 

"  Why,  there,  dear  child.  But  all  is  as  God  wills 
Lazarus." 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  the  boy  returned,  his 
mother  came  out  of  the  doctor's  dressing-room ;  and 
ler  face  was  very  pale,  but  very  radiant. 

"There  is  no  letter  for  us,  mother;  but  Master 
Bradford  bid  me  say  he  had  news  that  he  would  give 
you  for  himself  presently.  He  was  talking  with  a 
stranger  man  who  came  down  in  the  schooner,  —  a 
sailor,  I  think." 


MARQUISES  ARE   UNLUCKY  TO  ME.      $2$ 

"Now  God  help  us,  my  boy!  If  he  had  good 
news,  kind  Master  Bradford  would  have  said  it  out. 
Stay  here,  Lazarus,  —  I  may  want  you,  my  son,  to  help 
me  bear  what  is  coming." 

And  turning  back  into  the  little  room,  so  altogether 
her  husband's,  Mary  LeBaron  shut  her  doors  about 
her,  and  sought  for  strength  where  she  had  so  often 
found  it,  and  should  yet  so  often  seek  it. 

Lazarus  gently  tapped  upon  the  door.  "Master 
Bradford  is  down  stairs,  mother." 

"  I  will  come."  But  when  she  entered  the  room, 
and  gave  her  cold  hand  to  the  venerable  man,  and 
fixed  her  great  asking  eyes  upon  his,  it  was  down  his 
cheek,  not  hers,  that  the  tears  flowed  fast ;  and  it  was 
his  voice  that  scarce  was  audible  for  emotion,  as  he 
said,  forgetting  all  his  careful  preparation,  — 

" '  The  Lord  giveth,  and  the  Lord  taketh  away,'  my 
daughter." 

"  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord,"  replied  the 
white  lips  of  the  bereaved  woman ;  and,  sitting  down 
in  the  nearest  chair,  she  covered  her  face  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  said  in  a  strangely  hushed  voice,  — 

"  Tell  me  as  quickly  as  may  be,  good  friend.  I  can 
bear  it  better  to  hear  it  all  out  at  once." 

So  subduing  his  own  emotion,  Master  Bradford  told 
how  the  "  Belle  Isle  "  had  encountered  in  the  Bahama 
waters  ther  craft  of  a  famous  buccaneer  of  that  time 
and  locality,  named  Black  Beard,  who,  from  his  lair 
in  one  of  the  inlets  of  the  island  since  called  New 
Providence,  sallied  forth,  now  to  attack  some  vessel 
whose  freight  he  had  reason  to  suppose  valuable,  and 


326  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

now  to  make  raids  upon  the  mainland,  his  ravages 
extending  as  far  north  as  the  Carolinas.1  Either  from 
information  or  by  a  shrewd  guess,  none  could  now 
say  which,  Black  Beard  had  decided  that  the  "  Belle 
Isle  "  was  worth  his  capture  on  this  occasion,  and  had 
lain  in  wait  for  her,  taken  her  by  surprise,  slaughtered 
most  of  the  crew,  and  having  thoroughly  stripped  her, 
not  only  of  the  treasures  of  the  poor  marquis,  but  of 
every  other  valuable,  had  secured  her  crew  and  pas- 
sengers, living  and  dead,  below  hatches,  set  fire  to  the 
brig,  and  sailed  away,  leaving  her  to  consume  and 
sink. 

One  of  the  sailors,  sick  in  his  berth  below  at  the 
time  of  the  attack,  had  crawled  out  of  one  of  the  port- 
holes, secured  a  floating  spar,  and  in  the  confusion 
and  smoke  of  the  onslaught  contrived  to  float  out  of 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  pirate  before  any  one  had 
leisure  to  discover  or  pursue  him ;  and  after  a  night 
and  day  in  the  water  was  picked  up  by  some  natives 
from  one  of  the  other  islands,  who  would  have  sold 
him  to  Black  Beard  as  a  slave,  had  not  he  fortunately 
effected  his  escape,  and  worked  his  way  to  Massachu- 
setts Bay,  where  he  hoped  to  find  some  French  vessel 
returning  home.  Telling  his  story  to  the  governor, 
who  two  hundred  years  ago  occupied  more  the  posi- 
tion of  father  and  guardian  of  the  colony  than  the 
governors  of  to-day  do  or  could,  he  was  sent  on  to 
Plymouth  Plantation,  there  to  give  by  word  of  mouth 
the  heavy  news  so  important,  not  only  to  Dr.  Le- 
Baron's  family,  but  to  those  of  two  other  townsmen 
who  had  taken  passage  on  the  "  Belle  Isle." 


MARQUISES  ARE    UNLUCKY  TO   ME.       327 

Such  in  brief  was  the  news  that  the  kind  Bradford, 
then  ruling  Plymouth,  had  come  to  give  as  best  he 
might  to  LeBaron's  widow ;  and,  having  given  it,  to 
kneel  and  pray  beside  her  that  God  would  give  strength 
to  endure  the  loving  chastisement  His  own  hand  in- 
flicted. 

Molly  listened  to  heavy  news,  eloquent  prayer,  and 
well-spoken  consolation,  with  the  same  set  white  face 
and  fixed,  unseeing  eyes  for  all.  When  the  somewhat 
puzzled  magistrate  rose  to  go,  she  rose  too,  and,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand,  said  gently,  — 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,  Master  Bradford,  and  will 
you  kindly  excuse  me  to  any  of  the  neighbors  who 
may  speak  of  coming  to  see  me  before  to-morrow?  I 
had  rather  be  alone." 

"Will  you  not  see  the  elder?  " 

"  No,  if  it  please  you,  sir.     I  had  rather  be  alone." 

"  Then  you  shall,  poor  child ;  and  none  shall  take 
offence  if  Desire  denies  you  at  the  door." 

And  we,  too,  will  leave  her  alone. 


328  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

MOLLY    HOLDS   THE    FORT. 

NO  doubt  our  Puritan  and  Pilgrim  ancestors  pos- 
sessed affections  and  sentiment  like  ourselves  ; 
but  these  graces  of  life  were,  in  the  stern  first  century 
of  their  experience  on  the  sterile  shores  of  New  Eng- 
land, made  so  subservient  to  the  iron  principles  upon 
which  their  commonwealth  was  founded,  the  tastes 
of  the  individual  were  so  constantly  sacrificed  to  the 
well-being  of  the  community,  that  small  evidence  of 
even  ordinary  feeling  appears  upon  the  surface  of 
their  records.  Notably  is  this  the  case  in  the  matter 
of  second  marriages ;  for  from  the  first  landing  of  the 
Pilgrims,  or  rather  from  the  first  winter  when  so  many 
marriages  were  dissolved  by  death,  it  seemed  to  be 
received  as  a  grave  political  if  not  moral  duty,  that 
grief  for  the  dead  should  be  postponed  to  care  for  the 
living;  and  the  widowed  mourner  should,  after  the 
briefest  possible  widowhood,  take  another  partner,  and 
raise  up  children  for  the  Lord  and  His  people. 

Rose  Standish  had  not  lain  many  months  in  her 
grave  when  her  husband  applied  for  the  hand  of  Pris- 
cilla  Mullins;  Dorothy  Bradford  had  hardly  settled 
herself  to  her  wave-rocked  slumber  before  the  gover- 
nor sent  over  seas  for  fair  Alice  Southworth,  his  first 


MOLLY  HOLDS   THE  FORT.  329 

love,  to  come  and  be  his  second  wife.  And  all  through 
the  records  of  those  early  days  we  find  the  marriages 
following  the  burials  so  rapidly  that  the  funeral  meats 
might  have  been  at  least  lukewarm  for  the  marriage 
feast. 

In  view  of  this  state  of  things  Mary  LeBaron  was 
not  scandalized,  although  much  grieved,  when  her  dear 
old  friend  Bradford  called  upon  her  one  autumnal 
day,  about  a  year  after  her  husband's  loss,  and  premis- 
ing his  errand  with  some  kindly  commonplaces,  to 
which  she  replied  in  her  gentle,  absent  fashion,  came 
to  the  pith  of  his  errand  in  this  direct  style  :  — 

"  I  have  come  to-day,  my  dear  child,  to  give  you 
some  counsel  which  I  do  earnestly  desire  you  to  fol- 
low. I  would  see  you  married  again,  as  St.  Paul  ad- 
vises the  younger  widows  ever  to  do ;  and  I  have  a  good 
and  suitable  husband  to  propose.  One,  too,  who  has 
some  sort  of  a  claim  upon  you,  in  that  you  once  were 
troth-plight  to  him,  and  broke  the  bond  for  no  other 
reason  than  a  maid's  idle  fancy.  I  mean  Reuben 
Hetherford,  Mary." 

"Reuben  Hetherford  has  spoken  with  me,  good 
father  Bradford,  and  I  have  given  him  his  answer," 
replied  Molly  quietly,  but  with  a  little  color  rising  to 
her  cheek,  a  little  light  to  her  eye.  The  patriarch 
smiled,  and  lifted  a  gently  deprecating  hand. 

"  I  know  it,  Mary :  I  heard  it  all  from  Hetherford 
himself;  and  it  seemed  to  me  you  had  shown  him  less 
than  your  usual  gentleness.  I  hardly  knew  our  dove- 
like  Mistress  LeBaron  hi  the  scornful  dame  whose 
words  he  reported." 


33O  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  It  is  like  him  to  try  to  set  you  against  me,  sir,  you 
who  have  been  my  best  friend  since  —  but  I  will  not 
contradict  him.  Believe  me  a  shrew  an  you  will,  father ; 
but  let  me,  in  all  reverence  to  you,  say  again,  as  I  said 
to  him,  I  am  the  wife  of  one  man,  and  that  man  Fran- 
cis LeBaron.  And  though  God  has  in  His  righteousness 
removed  him  from  my  sight,  from  this  world  even,  he 
is  none  the  less  my  husband ;  and  I  can  no  more  take 
another  than  can  Dame  Sampson  because  her  husband 
has  gone  voyaging  around  the  world." 

"  But,  mistress,  you  will  not  make  yourself  more 
faithful  or  more  righteous  than  the  fathers  of  our  col- 
ony here  "  —  began  the  governor  rather  severely ;  but 
Mary,  putting  her  hands  together,  raised  them  in  such 
meek  deprecation  of  his  anger  that  he  paused  irreso- 
lutely, and  she  took  advantage  of  his  doubt  to  put  in 
her  own  plea. 

"  Nay,  father,  be  not  displeased  :  say  that  I  am  but 
a  poor,  silly  woman,  and  let  me  go  my  way,  looking 
only  to  your  honorable  guardianship  for  protection 
and  counsel;  for  in  very  truth  Reuben  Hetherford 
could  never  fill  your  place  in  those  respects.  I  shall 
be  no  charge  to  any  one ;  for  when  the  money  my 
dear  husband  left  in  your  hands  is  gone,  I  can  sell 
my  farm  near  Falmouth,  and  I  think  already  of  open- 
ing  a  little  dame-school  here  in  my  own  sitting-room ; 
there  are  many  who  would  trust  their  children  to  me  ; 
and  I  may  dismiss  Desire,  and  there  are  other  econo- 
mies —  in  truth,  father,  I  need  no  man  to  care  for  my 
affairs  except  yourself." 

"But  the  lad,  Mary  1  Lazarus  surely  needs  a 
father." 


MOLLY  HOLDS  THE  FORT.  331 

"  He  has  one,  sir ;  and  one  of  his  daily  lessons  is  to 
learn  to  be  what  that  father  would  have  him.  I  may 
be  all  unfit  to  train  him,  but  Reuben  Hetherford  shall 
never  be  master  over  Dr.  LeBaron's  son." 

"Pride,  Mar>',  and  bitterness  and  prejudice  and 
perversity.  Those  are  the  good  gifts  you  would  give 
your  son,  are  they?"  asked  Bradford  severely, 

"  Better  those  than  cruelty  and  treachery  and  false- 
hood, the  goodly  blossoms  of  Hetherford's  nature,"  re- 
plied Molly,  in  so  undaunted  a  tone  that  the  governor 
rose  in  much  displeasure,  and  would  have  left  the 
room  but  for  the  fair,  soft  woman  suddenly  replacing 
the  self-asserting  matron  who  opposed  him  but  now, 
and  who  clasping  his  hand  in  her  own  long,  smooth 
fingers  raised  it  to  her  lips  saying,  — 

"Nay  then,  nay  father,  but  I  will  not  have  you 
leave  me  so.  Did  not  you  promise  to  be  a  father  to 
the  fatherless  and  to  the  widow?  and  have  not  I  given 
you  the  love  and  reverence  of  a  daughter?  Forgive 
my  obstinacy,  and  do  not  altogether  break  my  heart 
by  going  away  in  anger." 

"Well  there,  then,  child,  there.  Kneel  down  and 
take  my  blessing.  I  was  vexed,  no  doubt ;  but,  after 
all,  God  himself  guides  such  as  you,  and  I  need  not 
to  meddle.  Hetherford  shall  not  persecute  you,  nor 
shall  any  one." 

So  that  danger  went  by,  and  the  winter  passed. 
Mary  opened  her  dame-school,  and  dismissed  Deshe, 
but,  besides  her  household  duties  and  the  care  of  her 
little  ones,  found  time  to  carry  on  the  lessons  her  hus- 
band had  begun  with  his  son,  and  which  were  already 


332  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

far  beyond  the  most  advanced  branches  of  the  village 
school  system.  The  governor  occasionally  examined 
the  lad,  and  looked  at  his  books,  generally  making  the 
mother's  heart  flutter  before  he  left  her  by  prophesying, 
that,  in  a  few  months  more,  master  must  be  sent  to 
Boston,  or  perhaps  to  the  new  college  at  Cambridge, 
t:  finish  his  education,  already  outgrowing  a  woman's 
grasp. 

After  one  of  these  examinations  and  prophecies, 
the  widow's  candle  burned  very  late  o'  nights  for  a 
long  time ;  and  her  sweet,  steadfast  eyes  grew  red,  not 
with  weeping  only,  but  with  poring  over  Latin  and 
even  Greek  grammar  and  lexicon,  and  puzzling  al- 
gebraic signs,  interpreted  finally  more  by  intuition 
spurred  by  love,  than  any  colder  mental  process. 

It  was  the  next  morning  after  one  of  these  visits, 
and  one  of  these  vigils,  that  Molly  received  a  visitor 
admitted  by  Lazarus,  who  came  to  call  his  mother,  and 
take  her  place  in  the  little  school  while  she  received 
him.  A  tall,  dark,  handsome  man,  the  top  of  his 
head  bald  or  shaved,  and  the  black  hair  beneath  a 
little  gray,  although  the  firmness  of  the  muscles  and 
clearness  of  the  eyes  suggested  that  mental  toil  and 
hardship,  rather  than  age,  had  added  the  silver  threads. 
He  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  parlor  as  the  widow 
entered,  and  gravely  bowed,  remaining  silent  until  she 
spoke. 

"I  remember  you  very  well,  sir,  although  I  have 
lot  seen  you  since  the  night  of  my  marriage,  and  do 
iot  know  your  name.  But  as  his  friend "  —  And 
hen,  a  sudden  thought  striking  her,  all  the  gentle 


MOLLY  HOLDS  THE  FORT.  333 

calm  of  her  manner  broke  up  in  a  most  unwonted 
whirl  of  agitation,  the  soft  color  fled  her  cheek,  the 
eyes  filled,  the  lips  quivered,  and,  hardly  able  to  com- 
mand her  voice,  she  gasped, — 

"  Oh  !  You  are  his  friend  !  You  know  all  —  you 
were  with  him  before  I  knew  him  —  he  would  —  do 
you  know  —  O  sir  !  is  he  —  is  he  alive  ?  " 

"  Ah,  madame  !  If  he  were,  you  would  not  have 
seen  me  stand  here,  here  in  his  home  so  silent  and  so 
sad ! "  replied  the  abbd  in  real  emotion.  "  I  loved 
him,  madame,  not  as  you,  I  do  not  claim  it,  but  I 
loved  him  more  than  ever  I  loved  mortal  before  or 
since,  and  the  news  of  his  fearful  death  has  changed 
the  face  of  all  the  world  to  me." 

But  Molly  hardly  heard  the  loving  tribute,  so  touch- 
ing when  offered  by  a  man  to  the  memory  of  a  man. 
The  sudden  hope,  the  deadly  revulsion,  were  too  much 
for  strength  already  sorely  taxed ;  and,  sinking  sud- 
denly into  a  chair,  she  grew  so  white  that  Despard 
would  have  called  for  assistance,  had  not  she  found 
strength  to  whisper,  "  Wait !  "  and  then,  summoning 
her  indomitable  will  to  fortify  her  exhausted  energies, 
she  sat  upright  and  said,  — 

"  Excuse  me,  sir.  It  was  a  foolish  idea.  Nobody 
would  have  known  it  sooner  than  I  if  my  husband 
had  been  alive.  When  did  you  see  him  last?  " 

"  About  two  years  ago,  madame.  A  little  before  he 
sailed  for  Hayti." 

"  Where  ?  You  were  not  here,  surely  ? ' '  asked  Mclly 
a  little  sharply,  a  little  jealously.  The  abbe  recog- 
nized the  tone ;  and  his  own  became  confidential  as  he 
replied,  — 


334  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  No,  madame  :  I  have  had  some  business  in  Bos 
ton  during  the  last  few  years,  very  delicate  and  pecu- 
liar business ;  and  it  was,  above  all,  desirable  that  no- 
body should  discover  my  identity.  My  dear  doctoi 
sometimes  visited  me :  but  you  know  his  sense  of 
honor,  and  his  loyalty ;  he  promised  to  tell  no  one, 
no  one  at  all,  of  my  affairs,  and  so  no  doubt  felt  him- 
self debarred  from  mentioning  me  to  one  who  doubt- 
less shared  all  the  secrets  of  his  life,  not  so  defended." 

He  looked  inquiringly  and  a  little  watchfully  at 
Molly,  who  raised  her  head,  and  met  his  eyes  fully  and 
almost  defiantly ;  and  when  she  spoke  her  voice  was 
clear  and  cold  as  the  north  wind  whistling  past  the 
windows. 

"You  are  mistaken,  sir:  I  was  agreed  with  my  hus- 
band that  all  his  life  before  we  met  should  be  to  me  as 
it  had  never  been.  You  belonged  to  that  life,  and 
you  were  never  mentioned  between  us  after  the  first 
evening  of  our  re-union.  I  do  not  even  know  your 
name,  and  I  do  not  desire  to  know  it :  the  secrets 
my  husband  living  kept  from  me  are  doubly  sacred  to 
me  now  that  he  is  gone.  I  am  not  even  sure,  pardon 
the  discourtesy  of  the  words,  but  I  am  not  at  all  sure 
thai  it  was  well  for  you  to  visit  me  to-day ;  for  I  do 
not  think  he  would  have  bidden  you  hither  had  he 
been  alive." 

Despard  remembered  his  visit  of  fourteen  years 
before  to  the  Bunch  of  Grapes,  when  Dr.  LeBaron 
had  declined  to  admit  his  guest  to  a  sight  of  the 
domestic  felicity  he  boasted,  and  was  silent.  Molly 
continued,  — 


MOLLY  HOLDS   THE  FORT.  335 

"  And  yet  I  cannot  be  sorry  to  see  one  who  kne\» 
and  loved  him  whom  I  hold  so  dear.  You  are  kindly 
welcome,  sir."  And  as  she  gave  him  her  hand,  the 
conflict  of  feeling,  the  glow  of  tenderness,  the  doubt, 
the  eyes  brimming  with  tears  yet  not  overflowing,  the 
tender,  tremulous  mouth,  despite  the  true,  firm  voice,  all 
combined  to  make  so  fair  a  picture  of  her  face,  all 
told  so  clearly  of  the  great  loving  heart,  and  the  pow- 
erful will,  and  the  inflexible  honor,  and  the  truth  before 
God  and  man,  that  made  up  this  woman's  character, 
that  the  priest,  no  mean  judge  of  human  nature,  no 
tyro  in  the  nature  of  women  especially,  forgot,  in  read- 
ing that  noble  page  outspread  before  him,  to  release 
the  hand  he  held,  or  to  make  reply  to  the  words  he 
hardly  heard,  so  that  it  was  the  widow  herself  who, 
with  a  little  added  dignity,  presently  said,  — 

"  Sit  down,  I  pray  you,  sir,  and  tell  me  if  you  will 
what  brought  you  to  our  little  town." 

"  Pardon  my  stupidity,  madame.  I  was  but  think- 
ing that  my  friend  had  indeed  shown  his  usual  rare 
discernment  in  the  selection  of  his  wife.  My  errand  ? 
It  is  one  that  since  I  have  seen  you  I  am  almost  afraid 
to  unfold ;  and  yet,  the  strong  mind,  the  noble  self- 
command  I  see,  should  give  me  confidence  that  their 
possessor  will  not  allow  any  excess  of  maternal  fond- 
ness to  resent"  — 

"What!"  demanded  Molly  almost  sharply.  "You 
speak  of  my  son,  of  Lazarus  ?  What  do  you  know  of 
him?" 

"  Only  that  he  so  wonderfully  resembles  his  father 
to  face,  form,  and  voice,  that  I  am  sure  he  must  in 


336  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

mind  also ;  while  his  mother's  calm  and  truthful  eyes 
give  steadiness  and  purpose  to  the  whole." 

"  Yes, —  he  is  very  like  his  father.     And  then?  " 

The  abb6  smiled  a  little.  The  idiom  caught  from 
I^Baron's  French- English  mode  of  speech  pleased 
him. 

"  And  then,  madame,"  replied  he  gayly,  "  it  would 
seem  well  fitting  with  the  rest,  that  the  son  so  like  his 
father  should  be  trained  as  was  his  father,  and  by  the 
same  hand.  It  cannot  infringe  upon  the  privacy  you 
so  nobly  respect,  for  me  to  say  that  I  educated  Fran- 
cois from  his  early  boyhood,  and  you  know  how  I 
succeeded." 

"  Master  Bradford,  our  governor,  and  all  the  men 
fit  to  pronounce  on  such  matters  here,  will  have  it  that 
my  husband  possessed  more  learning  than  all  of  them 
together,"  said  Molly  in  proud  simplicity. 

"The  worthy  gentlemen  show  themselves  fit  for 
their  honorable  office,"  replied  the  abb6  with  a  bow. 
"  Well,  then,  madame,  all  at  a  blow,  I  petition  for  the 
privilege  of  educating  the  son  as  I  did  the  father. 
You  believe  me  competent?" 

"  Oh  yes,  sir  !  fully  competent,  and  the  advantage 
to  my  poor  boy  would  be  untold;  and  indeed  it 
would  be  a  most  fitting  thing  that  the  father  and  son 
should  learn  of  the  same  lips ;  and  I  thank  you  most 
kindly  for  the  thought,  but"  —  and  Molly's  fluent 
words  suddenly  checked,  and  the  color  left  her  cheek 
as  she  slowly  added,  "but  are  you  coming  to  this 
place  to  live,  sir?" 

"  G<  d  forbid  ! ''  and  the  abbe  imperceptibly  crossed 
himself  'r\  horror. 


MOLLY  HOLDS   THE  FORT.  337 

"Then  how  could  it  be?"  demanded  Molly  re- 
proachfully. 

"  Surely,  madame,  Boston  is  not  so  very  far  from 
here,"  replied  the  priest,  not  daring  yet  to  announce 
the  whole  intention  of  his  visit ;  but  Molly's  rapid 
instinct  forestalled  him. 

"  You  do  not  mean  e  'en  Boston,"  cried  she  :  "  you 
would  take  him  away !  You  have  come  here  to  rob 
rne  of  my  son  !  " 

A  swarthy  red  showed  for  an  instant  upon  Despard':> 
sallow  cheek ;  and  suddenly  adopting  a  new  tone  he 
replied,  — 

"  Well,  yes,  madame  :  my  plan,  or  rather  the  plan 
of  those  who  have  a  certain  authority  to  arrange  your 
son's  destiny,  is  more  extended  than  I  at  first  an- 
nounced ;  and,  had  you  been  a  weaker  woman,  I 
might  have  waited  some  months  before  revealing  the 
whole"  — 

"  Spare  all  pretences,  now  at  least,  good  sir," 
interrupted  Molly  more  bitterly  than  she  often  spoke, 
"  and  tell  me,  as  briefly  as  you  may,  who  pretends  to 
have  any  authority  over  my  son,  except  myself;  and 
what  is  the  worshipful  plan  they  have  conceived?" 

"Briefly,  then,"  replied  the  abbe1,  stung  by  her 
scorn  almost  beyond  his  usual  self-command,  "  th 
relatives  of  your  late  husband  are  of  a  very  differen. 
rank  fn>m  that  the  boy  at  present  moves  in ;  and  as 
he  will  be  heir  to  certain  estates,  or  rather  is  now  the 
actual  possessor  of"  — 

"  Hold  there,  sir,  if  you  please,  and  remember  my 
caution  against  betraying  the  confidence  my  husband, 


338  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

t 

somewhat  riskily  as  it  seems,  reposed  in  you.  Besides, 
it  matters  not  what  claims  my  boy  might  have  any- 
where but  here ;  for  here  is  the  only  home  his  father 
desired  to  claim,  here  the  only  relatives  his  son  will 
ever  own.  It  seems  needless  to  speak  further  of  wha» 
brought  you  here,  does  it  not?" 

"Perhaps,  madame,"  replied  the  abb£,  now  thor 
oughly  out  of  temper,  "  perhaps  even  your  marvellous 
wisdom  will  allow  me  to  judge  for  myself  of  my  own 
affairs;  and  I  insist,  before  accepting  my  dismissal, 
upon  clearly  stating  that  I  come  with  offers  of  a  thor- 
ough education,  of  a  handsome  fortune,  a  distinguished 
name,  and  a  most  suitable  alliance  for  the  young  gen- 
tleman of  whom  we  speak,  upon  the  one  condition  of 
your  resigning  him  into  my  hands ;  and  it  seems  to 
me,  courtesy  apart,  that  a  woman  strong  and  sensible 
as  yourself,  a  mother  tender  and  self-sacrificing  as 
yourself,  would  think  twice  before  refusing  such  ad- 
vantages for  her  son.  What  but  sheer  selfishness  and 
self-will  should  induce  you  to  prefer  for  him  the  life 
of  poverty,  obscurity,  and  immolation,  which  is  all 
these  sands  and  pine  forests  have  to  offer?" 

"Nay,  sir,"  replied  the  widow,  with  a  smile  cold 
and  fine  as  the  edge  of  a  razor,  "  they  have  for  him 
what  they  had  for  the  men  whose  graves  you  find  on 
yonder  hill,  what  they  had  for  the  man  whose  name  1 
bear,  and  whose  wishes  are  my  law :  they  have  free- 
dom,—  freedom  from  tyranny,  freedom  from  corrup- 
tion, freedom  from  other  men's  control.  My  son  will 
live  in  the  home  his  father  preferred  to  all  the  riches, 
honors,  and  alliances  of  which  you  speak,  and  which 


MOLLY  HOLDS   THE  FORT.  339 

I  shall  forget  just  as  soon  as  I  possibly  can,  sith  it  was 
not  his  pleasure  to  tell  me  of  them.  You  have  my 
last  answer,  sir." 

"Then  nothing  remains  but  to  bid  you  a  fair  good- 
day,  and  a  long  adieu,  since  we  are  not  likely  to  meet 
again,"  said  the  abb£  angrily. 

"  Most  unlikely,  I  should  judge.  Good-by,  and  go 
in  peace,  my  husband's  friend,"  replied  Molly,  in  her 
usual  tone  of  gentle  gravity. 


340  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

UTTER  FROM  THE  ABBE  DESPARD  TO  MADAME   DE 
MONTARNAUD. 

MY  DEAR  DAUGHTER,  — In  reply  to  your  last  some- 
what impatient  letter,  I  will  simply  say  that  I  have 
done  my  best,  and  all  that  is  possible,  to  carry  out  your 
wishes,  and  that  I  have  failed,  and  the  plan  must  be  abandoned. 
As  for  your  idea  of  kidnapping  the  boy,  for  it  amounts  to  that, 
it  is  absolutely  out  of  the  question ;  and  I  rather  wonder  at 
your  suggesting  it  to  one  you  profess  to  reverence  as  your 
spiritual  father.  I  told  you  of  my  interviews  with  Hetherford, 
and  the  dowry  I  promised  in  your  name  if  he  married  the 
widow  and  relinquished  the  boy,  although,  in  point  of  fact,  he 
needed  no  inducement  to  either  course.  I  also  suggested  his 
interesting  the  governor  of  the  colony,  who  is  madame's  great 
friend  and  adviser,  and  taught  him  varioup  arguments  he 
should  offer  to  that  gentleman.  This  negotiation  failing  in  toto, 
I  saw  the  lady  herself,  and  have  given  you  the  result  of  the 
interview  in  a  letter  you  had  apparently  not  received  at  date  of 
your  last.  Probably  you  have  done  so  before  this  time.  That 
woman  should  have  sat  upon  a  throne,  or  led  an  army.  She  was 
so  completely  mistress  of  the  situation  in  our  encounter,  that  I 
retreated  from  her  presence  in  a  state  of  humiliation  more 
wholesome  than  agreeable,  and  my  meekness  ever  since  has 
been  most  edifying.  In  all  seriousness,  my  daughter,  your 
schemes  for  this  lad  are  absolutely  impossible  of  execution  • 
and  we  must  marry  Mademoiselle  Therese  to  some  noble  sieur 
of  Languedoc,  who  will  add  her  name  and  title  to  his  own. 
and  at  least  keep  the  estates  out  of  the  clutches  of  the 


LETTER  FROM  THE  ABBE  DESPARD.      341 

Huguenot.  En  passant,  our  good  and  pious  king,  advised  nc 
doubt  by  Madame  de  Maintenon,  seems  dealing  somewhat  stren- 
uously with  ces  messieurs  since  the  revocation  of  Nantes.  Well, 
we  must  not  allow  human  sympathies  and  weakness  to  blind  us 
to  the  true  interests  of  the  Church;  and  I  sometimes  wish  that 
these  people  among  whom  I  labor  to  so  little  effect,  and  who  in 
their  own  country  are  styled  Malignants,  could  be  transported 
to  France,  and  there  dealt  with  after  the  fashion  of  Vendee. 
And  yet  I  know  one  fair,  soft  creature  who  would  see  the  flesh 
cut  piecemeal  from  her  bones,  and  the  bones  wrenched  asunder 
by  wild  horses,  before  she  would  give  up  her  faith  or  her  will 
or  her  son. 

With  this,  goes  a  letter  to  my  superior,  asking  a  leave  of 
absence,  if  not  an  abandonment  of  the  mission.  It  does  not 
prosper,  and  would  not,  as  I  believe,  even  in  worthier  hands 
than  mine.  If  the  people  were  without  a  faith  like  savages,  or 
in  the  way  of  comparing  their  own  sterile  belief  with  the  full 
and  satisfying  creed  of  the  true  Church,  as  in  the  Italian 
countries,  or  in  fear  of  death  and  poverty  as  now  in  France, 
there  would  be  hope ;  but  to  ask  these  smooth-faced,  prosperous 
rogues  to  give  up  their  worldly  standing  and  sanctimonious 
public  prayers,  to  risk  life  and  goods,  and  the  respect  of  men, 
for  a  faith  which  they  have  always  known  and  deliberately 
abandoned,  is,  as  you  saw  while  here,  an  almost  hopeless  under- 
taking. I  could  hardly  wonder  at  your  abandoning  the  task, 
and  cutting  short  your  emulation  of  Madame  de  la  Peltrie 
before  reaching  her  glorious  end.  Remember,  however,  that  it 
is  only  by  the  way  of  the  cross  that  we  reach  the  crown. 

And  now,  my  dear  daughter,  I  will  say  adieu,  hoping  that 
it  may  also  be  an  au  revoir ;  for  if  my  permission  to  depart 
arrives  by  return  mail,  you  will  see  me  as  soon  thereafter  as 
wind  and  wave  will  carry  me.  I  struggle  in  vain  against  the 
very  human  desire  to  see  my  own  dear  home  and  friends  once 
more,  and  the  spiritual  longing  to  join  again  in  the  stately  and 
venerable  service  of  my  beloved  cathedral. 

With  my  blessing  and  constant  prayers,  I  am  as  always,  dear 
daughter, 

Faithfully  your  father, 

VINCENT  DE  P.  DESPAKIJ. 


342  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

When  Madame  de  Montarnaud  read  tiih  letter 
some  four  or  five  weeks  later,  she  quietly  refolded  it, 
nodded  her  head  twice  or  thrice,  and  murmured,  — 

"  I  suppose  &  bon  Dieu  made  these  men  to  develop 
the  superior  intelligence  of  the  women.  We  never 
quite  know  our  own  powers  until  we  find  it  necessary 
to  remedy  their  blunders." 


ON  BURYING-HILL.  343 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

ON  BURYING-HILL. 

TT  was  the  chill  gloaming  of  a  November  day ;  a 
J.  leaden  sky  hung  low  above  the  flat  and  lifeless  sea, 
crushed  by  its  weight,  and  reflecting  its  color;  the 
skeleton  trees  shivered  in  the  wind  moaning  fitfully 
out  of  the  east,  and  slowly  bringing  in  a  great  fog- 
bank  to  lie  like  a  shroud  over  the  face  of  dead  Na- 
ture, —  a  chill,  defying  duffle  mantle,  or  robe  of  fur, 
and  sending  a  shiver  through  even  the  stoutest  frame ; 
while  the  old  wives,  comforting  their  frosty  noses  and 
withered  fingers  at  the  blaze  snapping  upon  every 
hearth,  cried,  — 

"  Hark  to  the  fire  treading  snow !  It  will  be  a 
shrewd  night  on  the  coast.  God  keep  the  sailors  ! " 

"They  signalled  another  brig  off  the  Gurnet  just 
before  dark,"  reported  goodman  Priest,  as  he  stood 
beside  the  chimney,  and  stirred  the  logs  with  his 
heavy  boot. 

"Another?  Oh,  yes  !  'The  Messenger'  from  Bos- 
ton came  in  this  morning,"  replied  his  wife.  "  Well, 
if  the  brig's  skipper  is  a  prudent  man,  he'll  stay  off 
the  Gurnet  till  morning  light,  and  not  risk  Brown's 
Island  and  Dick's  Flat  in  a  night  fog." 

"  Pity  but  he  had  thee  there  to  guide  him,  dame," 


344  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

replied  her  husband  with  a  chastened  smile ;  and  the 
dame  retorted,  "And  if  he  has  no  better  headpiece 
on's  shoulders  than  thee,  Diggory,  he  needs  me." 

Creeping  in,  and  creeping  up,  the  fog  has  reached 
Burying-Hill,  and  goes  stealing  along  between  the 
rows  of  stones  marking  the  streets  and  alleys  of  this 
city  of  the  dead,  already  more  populous  than  the 
town  below,  hanging  dankly  upon  the  funereal  ever- 
greens set  here  and  there  about  the  graves,  and  seem- 
ing to  wither  away  the  last  freshness  of  the  grass 
crouching  beneath  its  tread.  And  here,  at  the  highest 
point  of  the  hill,  the  fog  finds  a  fit  subject  for  its 
clinging,  crawling  possession.  Beside  a  gravestone 
newly  set,  yet  with  no  mound  at  its  foot,  crouches  a 
woman  clad  in  deepest  mourning  weeds,  her  head  en- 
veloped in  a  muffling  veil  between  whose  folds  showed 
a  wild  and  woeful  face,  —  a  face  where  pride  and  pas- 
sion had  fought  with  grief  until  all  its  beauty  was  lost  in 
scars  of  conflict,  and  the  great  gloomy  eyes,  once  its 
charm,  burned  like  the  fires  whereby  upon  a  stricken 
field  men  seek  the  bodies  of  the  slain. 

Quiet  and  impassive  as  the  dead  around  her  she 
crouched  there ;  but  it  was  not  in  the  gentle  resigna- 
tion of  hallowed  grief;  the  volcanic  throes  were  for 
the  moment  exhausted,  yet  only  gathered  strength  for 
a  new  outburst.  On  that  face,  as  on  that  of  Milton's 
Satan,  one  read  that  so  long  as  the  deathless  spirit  en- 
dured, so  long  it  was  that  of  a  rebel  against  God; 
never  should  it  arrive  at  His  peace. 

At  a  little  distance,  his  back  turned  to  the  silent 
mourner,  stood  a  man,  his  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes, 


ON  BURYING-HILL.  345 

his  arms  folded,  his  face,  gray  as  the  sky  and  the  sea 
and  the  fog,  bent  downward,  his  mind  so  lost  in 
gloomy  thought  that  the  present  scene  and  companion- 
ship were  forgotten,  and  he  did  not  hear  the  light  tread 
of  a  woman,  who,  climbing  the  little  footpath  among 
the  graves,  passed  close  behind  him,  and  approached 
the  stone  with  the  sable  figure  crouched  beside  it. 

This  woman  also  was  in  mourning,  but  of  a  less 
exaggerated  sort  than  the  other;  and  the  close  little 
hood,  concealing  nearly  all  her  hair,  left  exposed  a 
face  white,  and  thin,  and  grief-worn  indeed,  but  still 
and  holy  as  the  effigies  of  a  saint.  Tears  and  vigil, 
and  prayer  without  ceasing,  had  indeed  wasted  away 
the  roundness  and  much  of  the  comeliness  of  youth, 
but  had  left  in  its  place  a  radiant  loveliness,  a  solemn 
and  thrilling  beauty  never  seen  save  on  the  faces  of 
—  "they  who,  with  their  Leader,  have  conquered  in  the 
fight ;  "  faces  from  which  men  "  take  knowledge  that 
they  have  been  with  Jesus." 

Approaching  the  stone  with  her  quiet  tread,  she 
presently  stood  unperceived  beside  the  other,  who, 
with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  was  now  sobbing 
heavily.  Mary  Wilder  looked  at  her  a  moment  in 
grave  surprise,  then,  laying  a  hand  upon  her  shoulder, 
softly  said,  — 

"  Friend,  why  dost  thou  weep  beside  this  stone  ?  " 
The  crouching  figure  sprang  to  her  feet,  drew  the  veil 
across  her  face,  and  haughtily  demanded,  — 

"  What  is  that  to  you,  madame  ?  " 

"  Much,"  replied  Molly  patiently.  "  For  this  stone 
is  placed  here  in  memory  of  my  husband,  as  you  may 


346  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAtf. 

read ;  and  one  who  mourns  beside  it  must  have  known 
and  loved  him,  and  so  is  dear  to  me." 

"  Oh !  You  are  the  peasant  whom  he  chose  to 
style  his  wife  ! "  exclaimed  Valerie  in  a  tone  of  biting 
contempt,  as  she  swept  the  veil  aside,  and  looked  her 
rival  in  the  face.  A  little  color  crept  into  Molly's 
cheek ;  but  her  voice  remained  patient  and  sweet  as 
she  replied,  — 

"I  was  indeed  his  wife,  madame, — both  was  and 
am,  for  death  has  not  broken  the  bond ;  and  that  I 
was  his  wife  in  sight  of  God  and  man,  this  gentleman 
can  testify,  sith  he  it  was  who  married  us." 

"  This  lady  is  indeed  the  widow  of  our  friend,  my 
daughter,  and  should  be  so  treated,"  replied  the  abb£, 
who  had  approached  at  the  sound  of  voices,  and  now 
stood  beside  his  charge.  For  reply  Valerie  pointed 
contemptuously  at  the  stone,  and  said,  — 

"  Why,  see !  she  does  not  even  know  his  name. 
Francis  LeBaron  she  styles  him.  Pr'ythee,  madame, 
what  do  you  call  yourself?  " 

"  By  my  husband's  name,  as  wife  and  widow  should. 
I  am  Mary  LeBaron." 

"  But,  good  woman,  that  is  no  name,  as  even  you 
must  know.  What  other  name  had  he?  What  was 
he  called  before,  as  I  have  heard,  you  yourself  invented 
•  his  absurd  title,  name,  whatever  you  choose  to  call 
it?" 

A  puzzled  look  disturbed  the  calm  of  Mary's  face  : 
the  color  deepened,  and  her  eyes  turned  wistfully  from 
that  angry  and  contemptuous  face  to  the  stone,  where- 
on was  rudely  inscribed,  — 


ON  BURYING-HILL.  347 

44  To  the  Memory  of 

DOCTOR  FRANCIS  LEBARON 

Phthycian  &  Chirugeon 

of  Plymouth  Plantation. 

He  was  lost  at  sea  off  the  Bermudas 

Nov  y  in.  1690 

And  this  stone  is  raised  to  his  memory  by  his 
Wife  and  Son." 


The  sight  of  the  beloved  name  seemed  to  re- assure 
her ;  for  if  without  anger,  it  was  with  much  dignity  that 
she  turned  her  eyes  again  upon  the  face  of  her  oppo- 
nent, and  said,  — 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  madame ;  and  I  do  not 
care  to  inquire  your  meaning.  If  my  husband  chose 
to  forget  his  earlier  history,  and  begin  his  life  from  his 
arrival  in  this  country,  he  had  a  right  to  do  so.  If 
he  chose  to  conceal  that  history  even  from  me, 
the  wife  whom  he  loved  and  trusted  far  beyond  her 
deserts,  I  will  not  have  another  hand  withdraw  the 
veil  he  chose  to  draw.  This  gentleman  knows  my 
resolve  in  this  matter :  he  may  explain  it  further ;  and 
as  methinks  it  is  ill  proving  our  love  and  honor  to  him 
who  is  gone,  to  wrangle  over  his  headstone,  I  will  bid 
you  a  fair  good-night,  and  go  my  way." 

"  Good-sight,  madame,"  replied  the  priest,  removing 
his  hat,  and  bowing  courteously;  but  the  high-bred 
lady  of  the  politest  court  in  Christendom  contemptu- 
ously turned  her  back,  and  made  no  reply. 

Poor  human  nature  !  No  gilding  and  no  lacquer 
are  permanent  enough  to  hide  its  deformity  at  some 
moments  of  a  passionate  life.  The  only  safeguard 


348  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

against  ugly  exposure,  sooner  or  later,  is  to  change  the 
whole  groundwork  of  the  fabric,  to  replace  the  original 
material  with  one  not  perhaps  so  highly  polished  on 
the  surface,  but  sound  and  fair  throughout 


A  PROVENCE  ROSE.  349 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

A  PROVENCE   ROSE. 

MOTHER  must  not  stay  up  on  the  hill  in  this 
fog  and  chill,"  said  Lazarus  LeBaron,  throw- 
ing down  his  book,  snatching  his  hat,  and  putting  a 
fresh  log  upon  the  fire  where  already  the  kettle  softly 
sang  of  evening  cheer  and  domestic  comfort.  Hurry- 
ing along  through  the  village,  whose  twinkling  lights  and 
ruddier  streams  of  fire-blaze  showed  that  the  folk  were 
generally  gathered  about  their  hearthstones,  the  lad 
began  to  mount  the  hill  already  dusky  with  night  as 
well  as  fog,  when  he  heard  a  blithe  young  voice  just 
out  of  sight  singing  a  little  French  nursery  rhyme,  — 

"  Tous  les  vaches  de  Picardie 
Sont  nominee  Marie,  Marie ; 
Donnez-moi  du  lait,  cherie  I " 

And  then  exclaiming  in  the  same  language,  — 

"  Well,  Marie,  is  there  anybody  up  here  but  mes- 
sieurs the  dead  men,  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

"  But  no,  mademoiselle,"  replied  a  coarser  voice. 
"  And  who  knows  but  they  may  attack  us  for  dis- 
turbing their  repose?  Let  us  return  to  the  inn,  and 
await  madame  there  as  she  bade  us." 

Lazarus,  taught  by  his  father  and  the  French  sailors 
who  pervaded  the  port  in  those  days,  understood  the 


350  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

language  easily,  but  was  a  great  deal  too  shy  to  use  it 
on  his  own  account ;  so  hastening  his  steps  a  little,  he 
overtook  the  speakers,  and  said  in  English,  — 

"  Are  you  looking  for  somebody  on  the  hill? " 

"  Ah,  del!  "  exclaimed  the  merry  voice ;  and  Laz- 
arus could  now  see  through  the  gloaming  how  fair  and 
bright  a  face  went  with  it,  before,  lapsing  into  a  cere- 
monious tone  and  very  careful  English,  the  young 
lady  continued,  — 

"  You  are  but  too  good,  sir ;  and  if  you  will  gra- 
ciously tell  us  if  a  lady  is  up  here  among  the  graves. 
A  boy  said  so  below  there,  but  it  is  so  gloomy  here." 

"  A  lady,  do  you  say  ? "  asked  Lazarus,  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  flower-face  so  different  from  any  thing 
he  ever  yet  had  seen.  "  My  mother  is  here ;  but  you 
do  not  seek  her,  I  fear." 

"Your  mother  1  No ;  but  it  is  my  own  that  I  want," 
exclaimed  the  girl,  flashing  out  a  smile.  "  Two  lambs, 
each  crying  for  its  sheep  mamma." 

Lazarus  laughed  too,  and  said  something,  he  knew 
not  what ;  for  he  was  thinking  that  the  dark  velvety 
pansies  in  his  mother's  garden-plot  were  almost  as  rich 
as  the  eyes  laughing  into  his,  and  that  new  broken 
cocoanuts  were  not  so  white  and  fine  as  those  litde 
teeth  laughing  with  the  lips. 

"Come,  mademoiselle,"  interposed  the  nurse,  her 
sharp  black  eyes  peering  into  the  fog  on  every  side, 
and  her  French  mind  divided  between  delight  in 
"assisting"  at  even  so  mild  an  impropriety  as  this  in- 
terview, and  terror  lest  it  should  be  discovered.  But 
her  young  mistress  was  French  also,  and,  fresh  from 


A  PROVENCE  ROSE.  351 

her  convent  and  a  tedious  sea- voyage,  found  it  very 
pleasant  to  chatter  there  in  the  twilight  with  a  tall  lad 
whose  fearless  blue  eyes  so  plainly  told  his  admiration, 
and  upon  whose  downy  cheek  glowed  a  color  fair  to  see 
and  unknown  to  southern  France.  So  they  prattled 
on,  these  two,  speaking  of  Heaven  knows  what,  and 
never  guessing  at  the  tragedy  going  on  among  the 
graves  above  them,  or  of  the  tangled  life  threads  they 
might  so  easily  smooth  or  still  further  complicate,  until 
upon  their  gossip  broke  a  clear  cold  voice,  saying,  — 

"  Son  !     Are  you  looking  for  me  ?  " 

"  O  mother  !  —  yes,  —  that  is,  —  this  young  lady 
is  looking  for  her  mother.  Did  you  see  her?  " 

With  a  strange  look  of  anger  upon  the  face  ordi- 
narily so  sweet  and  still,  Mary  LeBaron  turned,  and 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  girl,  who,  smiling  timidly,  re- 
plied to  the  look  in  her  pretty  accented  English,  — 

"  Yes,  madame.  My  mother  and  her  chaplain,  they 
went  out  from  the  inn,  and  asked  the  path  to  the 
cemetery  to  see  some  memorial  of  which  the  landlord 
told  them ;  and  I  go  to  seek  them  because  it  is  so 
lonely  at  the  inn.  You  will  perhaps  have  met  them 
above  there." 

"She  married,  then,  and  you  are  her  daughter?" 
asked  Mary,  her  thought  taking  words  almost  uncon- 
sciously. 

"  Married  !  But  yes,  madame,  since  it  is  my  mcth- 
er  of  whom  we  speak,"  replied  the  Montarnaud  so 
haughtily  that  Lazarus  colored  afresh,  and,  drawing 
closer  to  his  mother's  side,  took  her  hand  in  his.  Re- 
called to  herself,  Mistress  LeBaron  glanced  at  her  son, 


352  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

then  again  at  the  girl,  bowed  her  head  in  grave  courte- 
sy, and  simply  saying,  — 

"There  is  a  lady  on  the  hill,  and  a  priest  with 
her ;  "  she  moved  decidedly  away,  Lazarus  perforce 
accompanying  her,  although  with  a  backward  look  so 
wistful  that  a  faint  smile  crossed  his  mother's  face  in 
seeing  it ;  but  neither  spoke  until  close  to  the  garden 
gate,  when  she  said, — 

"Lazarus,  do  you  remember  your  father's  saying 
that  marquises  were  unlucky  to  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  truly,  mother." 

"  And  did  not  his  words  prove  sooth  ?  " 

"  Only  too  fairly  true,  mother." 

"  And  did  he  not  bid  you  heed  me  when  he  should 
be  gone  ?  " 

"Ay;  and  do  I  not,  sweet  mother?" 

"You  have  been  better  than  the  best  so  far,  my 
boy;  but  there  comes  a  time,  —  and  I  was  called  a 
good  daughter,  too,  but  I  was  found  wanting  when 
that  day  came  to  me, — all  I  would  say  now,  my  boy, 
is  this,  marquises  are  unlucky  to  all  of  us,  as  well  as  to 
our  head ;  and  his  words  were  not  only  a  prophecy, 
but  a  warning.  Yon  maid  is  fair?  " 

"  Passing  fair  and  winsome,  mother." 

"  Well,  she  and  her  mother  and  her  priest  and  all 
belonging  to  her  are  of  the  marquises ;  and  your  father 
bids  you,  through  me  your  mother,  beware  of  her  and 
all  of  them.  Avoid  speech  or  look  or  any  association 
if  you  would  obey  him,  and  avoid  the  curse  of  rebel- 
lious children.  Do  you  understand  ?  Will  you  heed  ?  " 

The  light  of  the  fire  within  struck  through  the  case- 


A  PROVENCE  HOSE.  353 

ment,  and  fell  upon  the  speaker's  face ;  and  'Lazarus 
almost  forgot  to  answer  for  wonder  at  the  terror,  the 
pleading,  the  agitation,  pictured  there :  never  in  all 
his  life  had  he  seen  it  so  stirred ;  and  it  was  not  until 
his  mother's  cold  hand  closed  sharply  upon  his,  and 
her  voice  demanded,  "  Well !  Have  you  no  word  for 
me? "  that  he  replied,  — 

"  I  cannot  tell  your  meaning,  mother,  nor  why  my 
few  words  with  that  fair  young  lady  should  so  move 
you ;  but  to  obey  my  father,  and  please  you,  are  more 
to  me  than  all  the  maids  with  dark  eyes  and  white 
teeth  who  ever  walked  :  so  be  content,  mother,  I  will 
not  go  near  her  or  any  of  them,  or  speak  to  them, 
an  I  can  help  it,  while  they  stay  in  Plymouth.  Does 
that  please  you?" 

"  '  If  you  can  help  it,'  "  repeated  the  mother  dubi- 
ously ;  and  Lazarus  laughed  out  as  he  replied,  — 

"  Why,  yes.  You  would  not  have  me  turn  and  run, 
like  the  tailors  from  the  kyloe  cow,  if  I  chance  to 
meet  these  folk,  and  they  ask  me  the  way  hither  or 
yon?  I  need  not  do  so,  though  they  be  marquises 
twice  over,  need  I,  mother?" 

"  Why,  no,  I  suppose  not ;  and  yet  —  you  know  the 
word  of  Holy  Writ, — touch  not,  taste  not,  handle  not. 
But  I  trust  you,  my  boy,  now  that  you  know  my  will 
and  his  will.  I  trust  you  never  to  deceive  me,"  and 
then,  as  Lazarus  pushed  open  the  gate,  and  hastened 
to  undo  the  door  for  her  to  enter,  the  widow  whis- 
pered bitterly  to  herself,  "as  I  did  my  father  and 
mother." 


354  *  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

WHEN  THE  FOG  LIFTED. 

THE  fog,  brooding  heavily  all  night  over  sea  and 
shore,  lifted  with  the  sunrise  and  the  turn  of  the 
tide,  allowing  the  cautious  skipper  of  the  brig,  reported 
by  Dame  Priest  as  lying  off  the  Gurnet,  to  make  out 
his  landmarks,  and  assure  himself  of  sufficient  depth 
of  water  to  steer  clear  of  the  dangers  of  the  harbor, 
whose  intricate  channels  were  not  yet  buoyed  out. 
The  pale  autumn  sunshine  lay  broad  on  Burying  Hill, 
touching  the  doctor's  headstone  with  melancholy 
light,  and  throwing  its  long  shadow  westward  across 
the  vacant  grave  that  should  have  been  his.  In  the 
village  below,  a  note  of  decent  merrymaking  already 
resounded;  a  sort  of  glee  befitting  men  who  daily 
prayed  to  be  delivered  from  the  damnation  they  and 
all  men  deserved,  and  who,  even  in  praying,  grasped 
a  loaded  musket  in  one  hand,  haply  to  discharge  it 
before  the  orison  ended  at  prowling  beast  or  more 
dangerous  savage. 

But  to-day,  instead  of  Fast  and  penitential  exercises, 
the  governor  had  ordained  a  feasit  of  thanksgiving  for 
the  bountiful  crop  (as  Plymouth  crops  go),  the  peace 
and  safety  of  the  colony,  and  God's  continued  favor 
to  these  His  peculiar  people.  It  was  holiday  at  the 


WHEN  THE  FOG  LIFTED.  355 

dame- school ;  and  although  the  widow  and  her  son 
could  not  join  in  even  the  sober  mirth  of  their  neigh- 
bors, nor  would  accept  any  invitation  to  their  houses, 
Mary  thought  good  to  notice  the  day,  not  only  by 
hearty  thanksgiving  for  the  protection  and  comfort 
assured  her  by  the  Guardian  of  the  widow  and  the 
fatherless,  but  by  a  little  feast,  principally  adapted  to 
her  son's  tastes  and  fancies.  The  doctor,  partly 
because  he  was  a  Frenchman,  partly  because  he 
had  travelled  much  in  lonely  places,  partly  from 
natural  propensity,  had  his  own  ideas  and  a  fair 
stock  of  knowledge  in  matters  of  the  cuisine,  and  had 
amused  himself  by  imparting  them  to  his  wife,  and 
encouraging  her  to  experiment  and  sublimate  in  the 
art  least  aesthetic,  but  most  essential  to  domestic  com- 
fort, of  all  the  band.  So  it  was  just  in  the  act  of  put- 
ting a  chicken-pasty  in  the  brick  oven,  while  the  fine 
fat  pullet  already  revolved  before  the  fire  at  the  end 
of  a  string  fastened  to  the  ceiling,  that  Mistress  Le- 
Baron  was  interrupted  by  a  sharp  rap  upon  her  front 
door,  and,  as  Lazarus  was  out  of  the  way,  must  go  to 
open  it  herself,  her  fair  face  flushed,  her  round  arms 
bare,  and  some  tips  of  bright  brown  locks  peeping 
from  beneath  her  widow's  cap,  and  curling  with  the 
warmth  of  the  neck  and  temples  they  caressed.  Cer- 
tainly the  widow  never  looked  so  well  in  her  attire  of 
ceremony ;  and  yet  a  certain  womanly  vexation  clyed 
her  cheeks  yet  brighter,  as  opening  the  door  she 
found  the  lady  of  the  hill,  and  the  priest,  upon  the 
doorstep.  Gravely  saluting  them,  she  hesitated  for  a 
moment;  but  seeing  that  they  plainly  intended  to 


356  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAM 

enter,  she  bade  them  do  so,  and  pushed  open  the 
door  of  the  sitting-room,  where  a  Thanksgiving  fire 
blazed  upon  the  hearth. 

"I  do  but  hope  Lazarus  will  not  come  home," 
thought  Mary,  following  them  in,  yet  was  half-ashamed 
of  the  ungracious  thought  when  Valerie,  throwing 
back  her  veil  and  holding  out  both  hands,  said,  — 

"Will  you  forgive  my  rudeness  of  last  night?  I 
was  so  distressed  and  boulevcrsee,  what  you  say  upset. 
I  did  not  sleep  all  night  for  need  of  your  pardon,  and, 
besides,  man  pere  here  scolded  me  so  much,  he  is  so 
great  a  friend  and  admirer  of  yours.  Say  that  I  have 
your  pardon,  dear  Madame  LeBaron  ! " 

"Surely,  if  you  need  it,  madame,"  replied  Mary, 
allowing  herself  to  be  kissed  on  either  cheek,  but  not 
returning  the  caress.  "  I  may  have  been  wrong  myself: 
at  any  rate,  I  bear  no  ill-will.  Will  you  sit  down  ?  " 

"Yes,  indeed  :  who  would  not  sit  in  this  so  charm- 
ing room?  especially,  madame,  as  we  have  much  to 
say  to  you,  much  to  implore." 

Mary  bowed  yet  more  coldly,  and  seated  herself 
in  her  own  chair,  —  that  chair  beside  the  work-table, 
and  commanding  a  view  through  the  office-door  of  the 
leathern  arm-chair  where  the  doctor  had  been  wont  to 
sit  looking  out  at  the  pretty  garden  behind  his  house, 
and  smoking  a  meditative  pipe.  But  in  these  sad 
days  the  office-door  was  always  closed,  and  Mary  had 
made  Lazarus  put  a  button  upon  it  to  prevent  the 
children  opening  it  in  her  absence.  It  was  her  only 
luxury,  poor  soul,  to  steal  away  sometimes,  and,  closing 
the  doors  about  her,  sit  and  weep  in  that  old  chair  the 


WHEN  THE  FOG  LIFTED.  357 

tears  she  never  suffered  to  interfere  with  her  own 
duties  or  her  boy's  cheerfulness.  And  you  may  be 
sure  every  thing  in  that  room  remained  the  same  that 
it  had  been  on  the  day  when  LeBaron  saw  it  last,  and 
no  speck  of  dust  was  allowed  to  gather  there. 

"And  now,  dear  Madame  LeBaron,"  began  Valerie 
with  the  smile  of  Versailles  upon  her  lips,  but  a  hag- 
gard anxiety  in  her  eyes  too  natural  to  be  controlled, 
"  we  have  a  very,  very  great  favor  to  ask  of  you,  and  a 
proposition  to  make ;  and  O  madame  !  for  love  of  him 
we  both  mourn,  in  memory  of  him,  in  reverence  to 
him,  do  not  refuse  me.  It  is  my  life  I  ask  of  you ;  but 
that  is  not  much,  it  is  my  child's  Happiness,  the  wel- 
fare of  a  great  estate,  the  benefit  of  the  Church  of 
Christ "  — 

"Be  careful,  be  careful,  my  daughter,"  muttered  the 
abb£,  fixing  his  keen  eyes  upon  the  face  of  his  peni- 
tent, who  calmed  herself  by  a  great  effort,  and  contin- 
ued more  quietly,  — 

"You  saw  my  daughter  last  night,  madame? " 
"The  young  gentlewoman  I  met  upon  the  hill?" 
"  Yes.     Is  she  not  pretty,  well-mannered,  modest  ?  " 
"  As  well  as  I  could  determine  in  a  moment's  see- 
ing, she  was  all  these."     But  the  assenting  voice  was 
cold  and  hard  as  the  stone  above  the  doctor's  empty 
grave. 

"Well,  madame,"  pursued  the  eager  voice  of  the 
other,  while  the  priest's  keen  eyes  watched  every  word, 
"  I,  too,  have  seen  your  child,  your  son,  the  son  of  — 
Francois  "  — 

"  You  have  seen  him  !  Where  ?  "  demanded  the 
widow  in  a  tone  of  mingled  terror  and  displeasure. 


358  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

"  Content  you,  madame,"  replied  the  visitor  with  a 
gesture  of  haughty  derision,  breaking  through  the  con- 
ciliating courtesy  of  her  manner,  —  "  he  has  not  dis- 
obeyed your  command  to  avoid  us.  The  abb£  met 
him,  and  would  have  brought  him  to  me,  but  he  would 
not  come;  so,  finding  that  he  was  bound  to  the 
church,  the  —  the  "  — 

"  The  meeting-house  we  call  it,  madame." 

"  Pardon  !  The  meeting-house,  —  well,  we  went 
there ;  and  I  sat  as  near  the  boy  as  I  might,  and  stud- 
ied him.  O  madame,  it  is  his  father's  noble  head  and 
stately  form  again  !  It  is  a  marvellous  likeness." 

"Yes,  he  is  very  like,  but  not  so  comely  as  his 
father,"  said  Mary  softly. 

"  Well,  then,  madame,"  pursued  Valerie,  joining  her 
hands  in  passionate  entreaty,  "  oh,  then,  madame  !  by 
that  dear  father's  name  and  memory  I  implore  you,  let 
your  boy  stand  in  his  father's  place.  Suffer  him  to 
resume  the  name  and  rank  of  his  noble  ancestors,  to 
inherit  their  estates,  and  to  wed  with  his  —  with  my 
daughter,  the  demoiselle  you  saw  last  night,  and 
whom,  if  you  will,  you  shall  see  again,  and  question  as 
you  will,  satisfying  your  maternal  heart  that  she  is  all 
any  mother  could  demand  as  her  son's  wife.  I  do  not 
tell  you  her  name  or  mine,  because  you  have  said 
more  than  once  you  would  know  nothing  save  what 
your  husband  told  you ;  but  I  can  assure  you,  mon- 
sieur 1'abbe,  whom  you  trust,  he  will  assure  you,  that 
the  rank,  the  wealth,  the  position,  I  offer  your  boy  are 
those  that  any  noble  of  France  might  accept  with  joy ; 
and  so  far  as  we  can,  and  preserve  your  husband's 
secret,  we  will  give  proofs  "  — 


WHEN  THE  FOG  LIFTED.  359 

"  It  is  useless,  it  is  but  waste  of,  words  and  hopes 
and  feeling,  for  us  to  talk  more  of  this,"  interrupted 
Mary,  her  lips  white,  her  brow  drawn  with  anguish. 
"  I  cannot,  for  one  moment,  think  of  this  plan  of  yours 
with  aught  but  horror  and  shame.  To  sell  my  boy  ! 
To  send  him  back  to  all  from  which  his  father  fled  ' 
To  set  at  nought  the  years  of  struggle  and  endurance 
with  which  my  husband  bought  release  from  the  life  to 
which  he  was  born,  and  which  he  trained  his  son  to 
scorn  and  dread  !  I  will  not  tell  you,  I  will  not  betray 
the  secrets  of  that  dead  heart  by  showing  even  for  this, 
the  story  that  I  read  there ;  but  I  know,  I  know  as  if 
he  were  here  to  tell  it,  that  I  speak  my  husband's  will 
when  I  say  that  his  son  had  better  die  and  be  buried 
on  that  lonely  hill  above  there,  than  to  go  back  to  the 
luxury  and  vice  and  soul's  death  of  the  life  from  which 
his  father  escaped  even  as  by  fire. 

"  I  speak  for  my  husband,  I  speak  for  myself,  when 
I  say,  No,  never,  to  your  proposition,  and  do  most 
earnestly  beseech  that  it  may  never  in  any  form  be 
repeated.  It  has  been  too  much  urged  already." 

"  Obstinate"  —  began  Valerie,  her  haughty  anger 
flaming  out  at  last ;  but  the  priest  grasped  her  arm, 
commanding  her  to  silence  by  a  look,  while  he 
smoothly  said,  — 

"  One  more  word,  dear  daughter,  before  you  turn 
us  out.  Your  son  is  now  nearly  fifteen  years  old,  is 
he  not?" 

"  Quite  so." 

"  And  so  manly  of  his  age  that  his  own  judgment 
should  count  for  something  in  a  matter  so  closely 


360  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

affecting  himself.  Will  you  not  consent  that  we 
should  lay  the  matter  before  him ;  in  your  presence 
if  you  will?  " 

Mary  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  in  a  sudden 
mental  picture  saw  the  boy's  flushed  and  eager  face 
as  he  spoke  last  night  with  that  fair  maid  upon  th? 
hill,  and  turned  so  reluctantly  homeward ;  but  the 
next  moment  the  serene  light  of  truthful  love  crept 
back  into  her  eyes,  and  she  quietly  said,  — 

"  You  may  ask  him  —  in  my  presence.  But  I  know 
not  where  he  is." 

"He  passed  the  window  a  little  while  ago,  and 
looked  in,"  replied  the  abb£  eagerly.  "  And  since  then 
I  heard  the  window  of  that  room,"  pointing  to  the 
study,  "  open  very  softly.  I  fancy  our  young  friend 
will  be  found  there." 

And  the  abbe"  did  not  quite  restrain  a  smile  of 
appreciation  of  his  triumph.  Mary  caught  and  read 
the  smile  with  one  glance  of  her  eye,  and  proudly 
saying,  — 

"  My  boy  would  not  be  worth  the  struggle  we  make 
if  he  were  an  eavesdropper.  Look  and  see  !  "  —  she 
unbuttoned  and  threw  open  the  office-door,  glanced 
in,  then  with  a  stifled  cry  staggered  back  and  fell  into 
her  accustomed  chair,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

"  Poor  woman  !  She  caught  him  in  the  act,"  mur- 
mured the  abbe" ;  and  Valerie,  with  a  smile  of  con- 
temptuous triumph,  swept  past  him  into  the  little  room, 
uttered  a  loud  shriek,  and  fell  senseless  to  the  floor. 

"  Great  heavens  ! "  exclaimed  the  priest,  following 
her,  and  halting  petrified  upon  the  threshold. 


WHEN  THE  FOG  LIFTED.  361 

There,  in  the  leathern  chair,  beside  the  open  win- 
dow looking  to  the  garden,  sat  Francois  LeBaron,  his 
arms  folded,  his  head  bowed,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
figure  of  his  wife  where  she  crouched  rather  than  sat, 
her  ghastly  face  and  wide  eyes  directed  toward  him 
with  a  look  of  love  and  horror  and  suspense. 

And  yet  she  was  first  to  recover  self-command,  and 
rising  painfully,  to  approach  him  step  by  step,  her 
white  lips  forming  some  noiseless  phrase,  her  hands 
outstretched  toward  him,  who,  dead  or  living,  must 
ever  be  dearest  of  all  God's  creatures  to  her  heart. 
As  she  reached  the  door  he  rose,  and  came  toward 
her,  unheeding  Valerie's  prostrate  figure  in  his  path. 

"  Mary  !  Wife  ! "  was  all  he  said,  and  she  was  in 
his  arms;  and  Despard  went  to  raise  Valerie,  and 
support  her  to  a  couch ;  and  then  arose  the  confusion 
of  broken  phrases,  and  interrupting  voices,  and  half 
replies  to  half-heard  questions,  which  take  the  place 
of  conversation  at  such  a  moment.  But  presently  the 
doctor's  voice  rose  distinct  from  the  confusion;  and 
the  tones  were  cold  and  clear,  and  perhaps  a  little 
mocking,  —  a  tone  more  familiar  to  the  guests  than  to 
the  wife,  or  son,  who  had  softly  entered  the  room. 

"  Pardon  for  the  annoyance  I  have  caused  you,  my 
friends.  Nothing  was  farther  from  my  intention  than 
the  coup  de  thedtre  I  have  effected,  and  I  confess  to 
not  a  little  annoyance  when  the  door  so  suddenly 
opened;  but  now"  — 

"Yes,  but  how  come  you  within?  You  who  are 
dead !  You  whose  stone  we  have  wept  over !  You 
whose  widow  wears  mourning  weeds!"  —  demanded 


362  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

Despard,  his  cynical  humor  already  struggling  with  the 
honest  emotion  of  his  heart. 

"  It  is  a  history,  my  friend,  and  I  do  not  just  now 
feel  in  an  historical  mood,"  replied  the  doctor  impa- 
tiently ;  for  the  presence  of  these  ghosts  from  out  the 
past  irritated  him,  and  he  longed  to  be  alone  with  the 
wife  to  whom  he  would  have  spoken  so  differently. 
"  Quite  in  brief,  then,  I  arrived  in  a  brig  from  New 
Orleans  an  hour  since,  I  met  my  son  upon  the  wharf, 
I  sent  him  before  me  to  prepare  my  wife  for  my 
appearance,  wishing,  of  all  things,  to  prevent  startling 
or  annoying  her,  and  to  avoid  a  scene.  The  boy  saw 
guests  through  the  window,  and  ran  back  to  tell  me ; 
I  bade  him  go  softly  through  the  garden  window  into 
my  office,  and  unbolt  the  door  to  me ;  he  did  so,  and 
I  seated  myself,  partly  to  calm  some  inconvenient 
emotions  of  my  own,  partly  to  wait  until  my  wife 
should  be  alone.  So  sitting,  I  heard  enough  to  make 
out  the  proposition  with  which  you,  madame,  have 
honored  us,  and  to  coincide  perfectly  with  my  wife's 
decision.  As  she  justly  said,  she  spoke  for  me  and 
for  herself,  yes,  and  for  the  boy  too,  although,  that  you 
may  never  resume  the  idea,  you  shall  ask  him  for 
yourself,  and  now.  There  he  is." 

But  Valerie,  revived  by  the  care  Mary  had  forgotten 
her  own  emotions  to  render,  shook  her  head,  her 
mournful  eyes  fixed  upon  Francois,  who  met  them 
steadily  and  without  emotion. 

"Speak  you  then,  abbS,"  resumed  the  doctor. 
"  There  is  my  boy :  what  would  you  of  him  ?  " 

"  If  I  might  talk  quietly  and  more  at  length  witt 


WHEN  THE  FOG  LIFTED.  363 

Monsieur  Lazarus  "  —  began  the  abbe" ;  but  the  doctor 
impatiently  interrupted,  "You  may:  you  shall  leave 
no  loophole  for  the  future,  only  you  shall  promise 
solemnly  to  reveal  nothing  at  present  hidden,  or  stay  — 
pardon  me,  man  pere,  but  I  had  rather,  on  the  whole, 
make  the  proposition  myself,  and  here  and  now. 
Listen,  Lazarus  !  you  told  me  of  the  young  girl  you 
met  last  night,  and  of  this  lady  and  gentleman  speak- 
ing to  you  this  morning :  that  young  lady  is  daughter 
of  this  lady.  She  is,  as  you  say,  beautiful,  she  is  very 
rich,  very  highly  born  and  educated ;  and  her  mother, 
for  reasons  I  do  not  choose  you  to  know,  unless  you 
accept  the  offer,  wishes  you  to  marry  this  demoiselle, 
her  fortune,  and  her  title,  which  would  become  your 
own.  She  and  this  gentleman  will  take  you  with  then> 
to  their  home,  and  give  you  every  advantage  ana 
luxury  possible  to  procure,  and  I  make  no  doubt  will 
treat  you  with  all  courtesy  and  kindness;  possibly 
affection,  but  of  that  I  am  not  so  clear.  This  is  a 
fair  picture  of  what  you  offer,  abbe",  is  it  not?  " 
"  Yes,  my  doctor,  fair,  but  very  inadequate." 
"You  hear,  Lazarus.  The  abb£  means  that  I  have 
only  given  a  bald  outline,  which  you  may  fill  in  with 
all  the  glowing  additions  you  fancy,  especially  in  the 
direction  of  the  young  lady.  The  reverse  of  the 
picture  is,  that  from  the  moment  you  leave  this  place 
for  this  object,  you  become  an  utter  stranger  to  your 
mother,  to  me,  and  to  our  home.  You  become  for 
me,  merely  a  part  of  the  association  I  have  struggled 
for  twenty  years  to  clear  myself  from,  and  to  forget. 
Your  name,  your  country,  your  life,  will  all  be  hateful 


364  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

to  me,  and  my  only  effort  in  your  direction  will  be  to 
forget  your  existence.  My  wife,  do  I  speak  your 
mind,  as  you  but  now  did  mine  ?  " 

"Yes,  Francis,  in  all  things." 

"Then,  my  boy,  you  have  the  whole  thing  before 
you,  and  you  are  to  give  your  reply  without  fear  01 
favor." 

"  Pardon,"  interposed  the  abbe,  "  but  if  the  young 
gentleman  were  to  have  a  little  time  to  consider.  We 
do  not  leave  this  until  to-morrow :  will  you  permit 
that  he  have  the  night  to  think  of  it,  perhaps  to  visit 
us  this  evening?" 

The  doctor  hesitated,  casting  an  uneasy  glance  at 
the  boy,  whose  fair  face  and  honest  eyes  were  turned 
intently  toward  his  mother.  It  was  she  who  spoke, 
and  it  was  with  a  smile  of  proud  confidence  into  her 
son's  face, — 

"  If  you  will  have  my  opinion  of  it,  my  husband,  I 
would  say  yes.  I  will  trust  Lazarus  to  go  there." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  doctor,  looking  from  one 
to  the  other.  "  You  will  not  forget  what  I  have  said, 
my  boy?" 

"  Not  a  word,  father." 

"  And  you  are  quite  sure  that  I  say  no  more  than  I 
mean,  and  will  carry  out?  " 

"  I  am  quite  sure,  sir.  You  always  do  as  you  prom- 
ise, and  so  does  my  mother,  and  so  will  I." 

"  Ay,  say  you  so  ?  "  and  the  father  well  pleased  held 
out  his  hand,  which  Lazarus  grasped  manfully,  and 
looked  across  at  his  mother,  leaning  upon  her  hus- 
band's shoulder  in  rare  disregard  of  the  presence  of 
spectators. 


WHEN  THE  FOG  LIFTED.  365 

"And  I,  for  my  part,  promise,"  continued  the  doc- 
tor, "  that  neither  my  wife  nor  I  will  say  another  word 
upon  this  subject  in  presence  of  the  boy,  until  aftei 
he  has  given  you  his  answer  at  nine  o'clock  to-morrow 
morning ;  and  he  shall  be  with  you  this  evening,  on 
condition,  always,  that  my  secret  is  religiously  kept 
Do  you  promise  for  yourself  and  the  ladies,  abb6  ?  " 

"  I  swear  it,  doctor." 

"That  is  finished,  then."  And  Dr.  LeBaron  so 
plainly  wished  the  interview  also  to  be  finished,  that 
Valerie  indignantly  rose  to  go ;  but  Despard,  prevent- 
ing her,  said  in  his  genial  fashion,  — 

"  But  after  all,  man  docteur,  how  came  you  alive  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes  !  I  forgot.  This  devil  of  a  pirate  —  excuse 
me,  ladies,  but  he  really  was  just  that — had,  as  it  seems, 
assured  himself  of  the  list  of  passengers  on  board  the 
poor  '  Belle  Isle ; '  and  as  he  had  especial  need  of  a 
physician  and  surgeon  at  his  charming  country-seat, 
he  gave  command,  before  boarding,  to  look  out  for 
me,  and  secure  me  alive.  It  was  done  by  means  of  a 
blow  from  the  handle  of  a  cutlass  upon  my  head, 
which  floored  me  like  an  ox  "  — 

"Francis  ! " 

"Nay,  Molly,  'tis  all  well  long  ago,  silly  child. 
When  I  opened  my  eyes  it  was  on  board  the  pirogue 
and  the  same  night  I  was  landed  upon  the  island  of 
Monsieur  Black  Beard,  where  two  or  three  of  his  wives 
nursed  me  until  I  was  well  enough  to  nurse  them,  and 
to  set  the  leg  of  a  young  ruffian,  son  of  Black  Beard, 
and  already  a  greater  villain.  They  watched  me  well 
and  kept  me  safe  for  a  year  and  over,  when  I  man 


366  A   NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 

aged  my  escape  by  a  boat  to  a  neighboring  island, 
then  to  another  where  fishing-craft  sometimes  put  in 
for  water,  from  there  to  New  Orleans  and  home.  Will 
that  do  for  a  very  weary  man? " 

"  Perfectly ;  and  as  madame  is  an  invalid,  and  needs 
rest,  we  will,  if  you  please,  say  au  rcvoir,  and  return 
to  our  lodgings.  We  shall  see  you  this  evening?  " 

The  doctor  bowed  profoundly  in  reply  to  Valerie's 
profound  courtesy ;  but  neither  spoke,  neither  offered 
a  hand,  neither  sought  the  other's  eyes.  It  was  such 
courtesy  as  only  flourishes  upon  the  grave  of  dead, 
dead  love. 

Another  moment  and  the  visitors  were  gone ;  and  as 
the  door  closed,  the  doctor  turned  to  his  wife,  his  face 
aglow,  his  arms  wide  open,  his  voice  broken  with  love 
and  longing,  as  he  cried,  — 

"  My  wife,  my  darling,  my  own  1 " 

It  was  Lazarus  who  interrupted  that  moment  of 
paradise ;  and  he  opened  the  door  to  say  in  his  grave 
and  sonorous  tones,  — 

"  Mother,  the  pullet  is  roasted  to  a  turn,  and  I  have 
taken  the  pasty  out  of  the  oven." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  will  come  ! "  exclaimed  Mary,  her  face 
all  aglow  as  she  extricated  herself  from  her  husband's 
arms,  and  followed  Lazarus  to  the  kitchen. 

The  next  morning  about  ten  o'clock,  Master  Laza- 
rus again  entered  the  sitting-room.  His  mother  sat 
in  her  own  chair,  looking  over  a  little  pile  of  clothes, 
remnant  of  the  doctor's  ample  outfit.  He  sat  in  his 
leathern  chair  beside  the  garden  window  of  the  study, 
smoking  his  pipe,  and  narrating  his  adventures  in  a 


WHEN  THE  FOG  LIFTED.  367 

tone  of  whimsical  gravity  all  his  own.  As  the  boy 
entered  he  became  silent,  and  looked  at  his  wife :  she, 
less  self-conscious,  looked  at  her  son,  her  soul  in  her 
eyes.  Lazarus  came  close  to  her  side,  laid  his  arms 
about  her  neck  and  kissed  her  tenderly,  then,  going  to 
his  father,  slipped  a  shy  hand  into  his  saying,  — 

"  They've  sailed,  father ;  and  the  gentleman  bade  me 
say  good-by  to  you  for  all  of  them;  and  the  lady 
added,  '  And  tell  him  we  shall  trouble  him  no  more : 
he  is  safe.' " 

"  And  the  demoiselle  ?  What  said  she  ?  "  asked  the 
father  grimly.  Lazarus  blushed  scarlet,  and  slid  be- 
hind his  father's  shoulder  as  he  muttered,  — 

"  She  said  nought,  —  but  —  she  gave  me  this  ! " 
And  the  boy  just  showed  a  knot  of  carnation  ribbons, 
then  hid  it  in  his  breast.  LeBaron  smiled  a  little 
sadly,  and,  patting  the  child's,  shoulder  said,  — 

"Well,  well,  it's  all  over,  then,  is  it?" 

"  Yes,  father,  quite  all  over." 

"There,  then,  go  to  thy  mother,  and  she'll  comfort 
thee  as  mothers  can.  You  have  done  well,  my  boy, 
and  escaped  right  easil^' 

"  Sit  down  and  listen  to  father's  story  of  the  pirate, 
Lazarus/'  said  Mary  quietly ;  and  the  lad  obeyed. 


368  A  NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

GOOD-BY. 

T)ROBABLY  Francois,  le  baron  de  Rien-de-Tout 
JT  as  he  once  styled  himself,  in  all  his  chequered 
life  enjoyed  few  things  more  than  superintending  the 
uprooting  of  his  own  monumental  stone,  and  erecting 
it  afresh  in  his  own  garden,  precisely  opposite  the 
office  window  and  leathern  chair ;  and  many  was  the 
quiet  hour  he  spent,  pipe  in  mouth,  gazing  dreamily 
out  upon  it,  a  placid  smile  upon  his  lips,  a  humorous 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

And,  final  proof  of  his  wife's  devotion  and  woman- 
liness :  few  things  annoyed  her  more  than  this  habit, 
and  yet  she  never  spoke  of  it. 

Valerie's  last  promise  was  kept.  Never  more  came 
tidings  over  sea  to  disturb  tbe  quiet  of  that  simple 
home,  the  hard-fought  peace  of  that  strange,  nameless 
life;  never  flew  butterfly  or  humming-bird  from  the 
rose-gardens  of  Provence  to  the  bleak  shores  of 
Plymouth  Bay,  but  the  pure  breath  of  the  Mayflower 
perfumed  those  barren  shores,  and  heart's-ease  bloomed 
in  Mary's  garden-plot,  nor  failed  as  the  years  went  on. 

Lazarus  married,  nor  once  alone ;  and  his  second 
wife  was  daughter  of  the  Bradfords :  many  children 
sat  around  his  board,  and  went  out  into  the  world 


GOOD-B  y.  369 

carrying  the  new  name  of  LeBaron ;  but  the  fairest 
the  best-beloved,  the  nearest  to  her  father's  heart,  of 
all  the  girls,  was  his  daughter  Therese ;  and  it  was  his 
whim,  or  one  of  them,  —  for  this  Dr.  LeBaron,  like  the 
first,  was  whimsical  and  reticent,  —  to  like  to  see  her 
dark  hair  decked  with  carnation  ribbons. 

On  the  crest  of  Burying-Hill  stands  to-day,  just 
where  Dr.  Francois  uprooted  his  mistaken  memorial, 
another  stone,  of  black  marble,  and  stately  even  in  its 
decrepitude :  it  bears  the  inscription,  true  this  time, 
although  not  all  of  the  truth :  — 

Here  lyes  y  Body 

of 

DOCTOR  FRANCIS  LEBARON 

A  natyve  of  France  and  Physiciam 

of  Plymouth. 

AD  1704 


